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Vanishing Manhood: Part 11

Tenth Amendment — Thu, 25 Jun 2026 03:13:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 11

Men’s Rally And Riot

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

The Persians marshalled all the nations under the Sun and Stars yet they were defeated by a single idea: Sacrifice, and their inability to appreciate it.

After tonight, we would become a democracy because I could trust the group to see beyond gender and into the ideas and ideals of the speaker. True democracy was not about the tyranny of numbers, but consensus. Consensus was the result of the belief that everyone in the group, even the opposition, had worth, they counted.

How in the Hell, after all the wrong turns my life had taken, could I still believe I was an idealist? It was simple. I had not let them win. In a very crude, sexual way it was that I had the confidence in one girl, my first date, to ask her to hold off on true intercourse and she respected my wishes. In the kaleidoscope of my fractured mind, that memory burned through.

Listening to the women in my living room talking while I dressed in the bedroom, a tiny shiver of one memory collided and melded with another. No women I had ever known had not betrayed me in one way or another. That was the terror of distrust for me, but, no woman, or man, was perfect. They would all betray me, sooner or later.

I now understood this wasn't bad. It was human nature. We all let people down around us, even the ones we cared about. Pain had led me to hunt for perfection. That was a pointless quest and a pursuit that led to madness. What I should have been looking for was restitution. Did that person know they had wronged me and were they trying to make it up to me?

The same held true for me. Was I a true friend, looking after those I had wronged and balancing accounts with them as well? Honesty, Truth and Love, the harshest bitches on the block. I meditated for twenty minutes before heading back to my assembled friends.

"You look nice," Kuiko beamed. "Really nice."

"Thank you," I blushed slightly. More Bethany clothes.

"That wasn't a compliment, you jerk," Capri glared. "Last chance. This is stupid."

"Noted and acknowledged, Miss O'Hara," I nodded. "I need a taxi." I pulled out my phone and began looking up taxi services. My phone rang.

“FBI across the street” it read. I shuddered. I wasn't upset. I was peeved.

“Do you like my new underwear you Pervs?” I hung up. I didn't care if they liked my underwear.

"Them?" Capri asked softly.

"Yeah."

"Damn it, you just took a shower, shaved and got dressed. Can't they leave you alone for an hour?" she griped.

"Who?" Roni got out first.

"Santa's Little Helpers," Capri grumbled. "I really ought to do something about them."

"Let us not revisit the whole 'you dismembered in the morgue' thing, shall we," I requested. "Besides, I gave them a piece of my mind this time."

"Not the sexy part!" Kuiko blurted out.

"What did you do?" Capri studied me.

"I called them pervs," I declared. "No, I did not, Kuiko. The sexy is all for you." She smiled.

"Oh yeah, that will do it," Capri pressed her wrist to her forehead and announced dramatically.

"What do I want to do more," Venus mumbled, "fight over the sexy or find out what the hell is going on?"

"Perverted Santa's Little Helpers who leave dismembered bodies in the morgue and have an apparent issue with Israel naked or semi-naked," Roni mused. "Capri, after he leaves, you are going to do some explaining."

"I think this is my cue to leave," I told the room then headed for the door.

"Aren't you going to call a taxi?" Aniqua reminded me.

"The FBI is going to drive me there," I grinned.

"What makes you say that?" Samantha gulped.

"When the alternative is letting me flag down a cabby that may, or may not, be homicidal, my bet is they'll drop me off at the arena," I explained.

"Makes sense to me," Kuiko nodded. "If I had a car, I'd give him a ride."

"Kuiko, for once I agree with you," Venus muttered.

"I'm not as dumb as I look," Kuiko turned that 1000 watt smile on Venus.

"Of course you are not," Roni chortled. "Otherwise you couldn't walk and talk at the same time."

I went around and kissed each one of them, on the lips. Normally that should have made them happy, but they kept looking at me like they'd never see me again. Clever girls. I left the complex and scanned the streets. There was the car, at the edge of a car park down the street. It wasn't as if there were many car owners in this part of town.

I hurried across the street and I was whistling. Special Agent Sosa lowered the window as I approached. Across from her was S A Saris, also with Dimple's team.

"Yes?" Sosa sighed. "When staking out a place it sort of blows our cover if you walk right up to us, by the way."

"That's cool," I grinned. "We aren't staying here anyway. I need a ride to the Arena."

"Do we look like a taxi service?" Sosa smirked.

"I'm going, you are following. We might as well make it easy on us, save a few volts," I reasoned.

"Get in," Saris grumbled. I gladly did so and off we went.

"Planning to get arrested?" Saris asked.

"Planning? No. Expecting it to be a possibility, yes," I admitted. "Any news?"

"Dr. Fremont is still missing, but her company hired a GlobeMaster to haul a whole lot of something to Bolivia," Sosa answered.

Seeing my confusion, Saris added.

"A GlobeMaster is a really big aircraft, used for hauling freight, not passengers."

My impulse was to say 'can you shoot it down,' but the illegality of the action was stunning.

"Anything on your front?" Sosa inquired.

"Let me see, my Capri's Mom wants her to be a cum-dumpster, seven girls stopped by my place today to drag me out of my home and make me their bitch. My tribe made them back down, this time. Now my ladies are camped out at my place, murdering my AC unit and praying I make it back home in some sort of working order," I outlined.

"Why did they let you go? Are they some kind of pansies?" Sosa mocked.

"I'd hit you upside your head for that comment, but you are driving, armed and most likely a much better fighter than me," I replied. "They are not pansies. They risked harm for me today."

"What happened at the firefight today, anyway?" Saris asked.

"Not really sure," I lied. "Bullets were flying and I was running for my life."

"You didn't see anything?" she persisted. Damn her interrogation abilities.

"Wait, with guns going off I thought you would be happy I was running away," I evaded.

"Why didn't you wait for Agents Vabishi and Fraklos to get there?"

"Capri and I got across the street so we ran for it," I shrugged.

"Next time, lay flat and we'll come get you," Saris told me.

"Thanks, G I Jane," was my snarky comeback. "Maybe if you let me have some sort of combat training I'd know what to do next time." I was making light of things, but in the back of my mind, like a cornered badger in the dark, I knew I was in a vehicle with two women I didn't know.

It wasn't like I could tell myself they were law enforcement agents and feel better. Kwan, Riga, Seger and Somerset had all be cruel to me in some way. Dimples' crew had tackled me on the ground, intimidated me, deceived me, torn away my rights and played upon my feeble psyche. Trust hadn't placed me in this car, expediency had.

The FBI was the best chance I had to get to the Arena intact. I doubted they would have appreciated me defining their actions as our evolving tribalism. I was their investment, so it behooved them to take me safely to my destination. I didn't believe they yet understood that they had stopped working for the Director of the FBI, or the Attorney General and had become self-employed.

They may have had this delusion that this would end up with criminal indictments against the people behind the Big Lie and Carabolix-37, but that was an unsustainable fantasy. Once the system betrayed them, as it had betrayed me so often, Dimples' crew would know that escape was the only option left. It was obvious to me the moment I saw Dimples.

She would never let them win. She was the only one allowed to win. I didn't count the freebie she threw my way. That was a draw at best. The ride to the Arena turned out to be nothing much. I was dropped off. Men, and cops, were all around. I dutifully showed my I D to Arena Security, they triple checked it and then brought a coordinator to check it one more time.

They realized I was in the front third of the arena floor seating. I had a nice folding chair on the outer aisle. The coordinator decided that was a bad idea so she had me exchange seats with a guy in the middle of my row. I knew why this was, though I only had theoretical knowledge how a rally would work.

When the authorities left, having neutralized me, I politely went to the man I had exchanged seats with and asked him to switch back. He seemed dubious, but when I explained that all the blame would be foisted on me, he relented. See, here is how it worked. First your Talking Heads would get up and make their speeches.

Then would come the long question and answer portion of this farce. Women would walk up and down the aisles, men would raise their hands, wave and asked if they could present a question. In a totally democratic process, these women on the aisles would provide a sound system for the men to ask the speaker their question.

The speaker answers, on to the next man. As you might guess, men sitting on the aisle seats had the best chances of being heard. Men stuck in the middle were out of luck, men like me and my 'new' assigned seat. Men like me in my original seat, were potentially dangerous. Still, things went along very smoothly until the tenth question.

Up to that point, the speakers had done their thing with the basic theme being 'all you men are appreciated, doing your part, and we love you.’ Not that they were going to do a damn thing to help us beyond patting us on the head, but they loved us. They loved us because we were doing what we were told. The men in the audience ate it up. It was what they wanted to hear.

I imagined that handing us all 'little lamb' outfits to wear would have been counter-productive to their agenda, though it certainly would have been more appropriate to how these women viewed the situation. It was clear to me that all the questions the men in the audience were asking were scripted. Some had to actually look down at their phones when reading off their instructions.

Most adults don't like being treated like six-year olds, so they ignored this mounting stupidity until Man 10 stood up, was recognized and read off his question. He was around fifty and clearly in a prosperous profession, positive he was a member of the winning (female) team.

"Is it true that at this very moment Congress is voting on increasing the cycle from 28 days to 14, and abolishing marriage?" he asked.

There was a hush. By the dumbstruck expression of the woman on stage, this was not the prepared question. The problem wasn't moving the cycle to 14 days. Men were prepared to knuckle under and do their part for the Human species. But marriage? Men loved marriage. They didn't love the idea of finding love, getting married and living happily ever after.

That was idiotic. No, men loved marriage as our last refuge from a women's world. Gaining 'attachments' was a warning flag we could wave at other women, telling them 'hey, we are doing our part, so please, leave us alone.' Marriage was your shield and armor. It was 'Don't touch. I'm with somebody!'

The hope was that if someone did do something to you, your wife would scream bloody murder and things would get done. She was a woman after all. Marriage had been preserved in the Gender Inequality Act because most of the signers were either married or had been recently married and lost a loved one to the Plague.

I imagine they thought it was a quaint institution that would gradually fall to the wayside as society progressed. At the start, it looked that way. The number of marriages did slowly decline for thirty years, but about ten years ago, the trend began reversing. When a man is in his late teens, early and mid-twenties, going out with lots of girls sounds nice.

Women pay for everything, they take you to nice places and if you end up in the three- or four-way occasionally, well, you've got the stamina for it. When you hit your late twenties and early thirties, men start slowing down. Pulling a train on a Saturday night, all night, becomes a burden you could do without.

About that time, marriage starts looking good. You've probably been in a few attachments. You pick the one you can live the best with and who has the best financial status and you keep dropping hints until she realizes what you really want and she pops the question. Congratulations, you only have to screw one women for the rest of your life.

Okay, maybe her sisters, your mother-in-law and her boss, but still, that's not too bad. Ten years ago, that generation of men who grew up after the plague were hitting their thirties and they were taking a renewed interest in the dying institution of marriage. Men got interested, women got real interested. For women, it meant no more desperate hunting every weekend.

You wanted cock? Call your husband, tell him to be home by six and wear something sexy and it got done. Best of all, you could make that call, look around your office and see all your female co-workers dripping with jealousy. If you truly wanted to turn the screws, during that call, you told your hubby to take some enhancement drugs because you wanted it deep and hard all night long.

By this time in our social evolution, men didn't mind being treated like that too much. We had safety. As married men started to bask in their safe status, their unmarried brethren began wondering if marriage would be a good idea for them, too. More took the plunge and most of them were marrying up social and financially.

As I keep repeating, women aren't stupid. When rich, successful bankers began marrying sales clerks and custodians, the social stigma of marrying beneath your station evaporated in the burning reality that they had their genetic future waiting at home, willing to do his duty. The floodgates were open.

More married men meant fewer men in the fishing pool. That meant greater pressure on the remaining men, who were now opting into marriage to relieve that pressure. That meant even greater pressure on the fewer and fewer remaining men. Last year the marriage rate began its climb toward 30%. From the gender quota point of view, this was a disaster.

To put that in perspective, that's thirty percent of all men. Then you have to drop out every male below the age of 16. Then you have to consider that once men are over 59, they need a yearly physical. If something is wrong, you get a limited deferment. That means you don't have to have sex as often.

You never get to 'not have sex' unless you are on life support, or a rape victim. There are waiting lists for kidneys, livers and hearts, if you are a woman. If you are a man, they'll slap an artificial heart in you if they have to. Men must perform for the general female population, unless they are married.

Back to the question at the Arena. Men had been quietly bleating, nodding our heads, and smiling without real passion until that point. Sudden, like scenting a wolf for the first time, they were very attentive. If you were a twenty-something guy, this wasn't 'good.’ If you were a forty-two year old husband, with a wife, three kids and twelve years of marital bliss, this was disastrous.

The government was about to shove you back into the deep end were packs of starving women were going to devour you because your avoidance skills were rusty. You were about to be waking up wondering if the pain coming from your groin was worse than the headache you had from whatever the hell those women drugged you with.

Oh, and by the way, you were about to lose your parental rights to your offspring and most of your shared property. Effectively you were being forced to divorce. The magnitude of this was amplified by the speaker. If she had a pat lie handy, she could have defused things because men wanted comforting words more than unforgiving reality.

But she stammered. She could have said yes, and that might have been better. By stammering, she told the men that 'Yes, you are boned, but we are going to lie to you about it.’ In my opinion, she did the worst possible thing.

"Next question?"

That was the equivalent of 'Yes, but you don't deserve to be told about your fates.’ There was no riot over that. No, it was something far, far worse. Before that moment, the 20,000 men in the arena thought they were part of this society. They were deluded into thinking they were equals. They thought I was a lunatic. Now?

As a group they came to a consensus and it wasn't a pleasant one. 'They think we are sheep, Mother-fuckers!' This wasn't the crowd that carried dowels this morning but they were starting to wish they had some now. The shift was subtle. Men had been sitting back in their seats. Now they were leaning forward.

There had been polite whispered banter. Now there were grim faces and quiet. I jumped up and waved my hands around. The communications girl came my way, was offering me her microphone when she suddenly realized who I was, I wasn't the man they had reassigned to that seat. She back-pedaled and another questioner was immediately tapped to speak.

"Let him speak," the man pointed my way. There was a hush. His comm girl backed up as well. Another man was found. He started asking his state-sanctioned question but then the hissing and boos began. The speaker's response was barely audible over the racket. I jumped up again. The next man repeated the plea, though it was more insistent now.

"Let him speak!"

I wasn't sure what they expected me to say. I wanted some sort of redress to our legal plight, something to defend us against the G E D and the most egregious insults to our dignity. An arena security guard, neat and prim in her freshly pressed uniform, moved from the wall nearby and was clearly coming for me.

The world cracked a little more.

Five men jumped up around me and they looked angry.

"Don't," one of them menaced the guard. Cops would have kept coming. It is what they do, but this was a security guard. She wasn't armed and she certainly didn't like the mood presented to her.

She suddenly realized she was down on the floor of the arena, back to a wall with a sea of angry faces looking her way. She stepped back then ran, calling for back-up. It was the most horrible thing she could have done. Two cops were already advancing my way from the front of the arena. The ripple of the men's successful defiance moved through the crowd.

The majority of men kept their seats. They had not come to get in a fight. They were not rowdy. In fact, they were becoming afraid as most sane people do when violence approaches. Two patrolwomen came my way. Men rose as they passed by, but they held firm. Courage was the important thing. The belief was if they held firm, the men would back down because they always backed down.

I saw Officer Passey and her partner as they closed. They didn't have weapons drawn because they didn't want to spook us. There must have been sixty men standing around me. I was still standing at my aisle seat and no men had left their seats to pour into the aisle so the cops had unimpeded access to me.

"Come with us," Passey beckoned.

"I haven't done anything wrong," I begged. She grabbed my arm, and then two men hit her. Passe

Vanishing Manhood: Part 10

Tenth Amendment — Wed, 24 Jun 2026 03:11:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 10

Dining with Mobsters.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Had my life been a comedy, I would have bumped my noise, looked sheepishly over my shoulder and given a weak smile. I had experienced an infantile urge to run away from the shame, violation and the pain Zara's information brought. My hands had instinctively come up to save my face from impact. My fingers were trying to dig into the stone until my tips felt as if I was tearing the skin off.

I loved sex. I loved the pleasure it let me share. What I didn't love was the romantic mystique I tried to weave around that act being torn away, shredded for the entertainment of people I didn't know. How could I protect myself if any woman looking at me had seen me naked, in coquitos? How could I tell who was really a threat if I couldn't see behind their eyes?

Step, Capri and Zara were not talking. They were not closing in on me.

Step, people passed by. The scuff of their footfalls told me they were looking my way, but not stopping.

Step, I had to get out of here. The authorities would come looking and we all had to leave.

Gears contacted gears and the machine that was my mind lurched forward once more. I had things to do. People were taking incredible risks on my behalf. Capri and Zara understood what had happened and let me heal, just enough to get my feet back under me.

"Let's go," I muttered and we moved down the sidewalk once more.

We covered two blocks in silence.

"Zara, you are with the government, aren't you?" I began. She gave me a quick look, but didn't respond. "Let me rephrase: you are still an active duty soldier, aren't you?" Now Capri stumbled.

"Yes," Zara whispered.

"Shit," Capri groaned.

"Okay, I understand now," I nodded. We traversed another block.

"Fine, what do you understand?" Capri nudged me.

"I know who the Vanishers are," I leaned in and replied quietly. Zara's eyes flickered my way again.

"You do, don't you?" Zara's eyes blazed with pride in me and wonder.

"Either one of you care to enlighten me?" Capri grumbled.

"I need to get you off the street," Zara intervened. "The FBI is on its way. I can deal with the cameras and your phones, but not the bracelet." She steered us into a café where the early lunch crowd as only starting to come in.

"How do you know he's right?" Capri prodded Zara.

"The last two questions he asked," she seemed almost sad to leave us, me.

"Zara, take off and stay safe," I told her. "I don't think I would want to do this without you." Zara had a twinkle in her eye, nodded then left. Capri and I moved to a nice corner table. I took the seat that would allow me to watch the door and most of the café.

"Okay, what's going on?" Capri leaned in.

"You start off with two guiding principles. No large organization creates only one plan to choose from. Bureaucracies throw away nothing. So, twenty years ago, when the Federation and or the U N figured that the current system wasn't working, they planned out various contingencies."

"One of those proposals was the 'Vanisher' conspiracy. It was most likely advanced by a small cadre of mid- and low-level functionaries brought in to work on the forecasted collapse. Their idea was obviously rejected because we stayed the course and are now in the fucked up situation we are in now."

"The thing was, those planners didn't die and didn't give up on their plan. At the start, they were powerless to do anything. Besides, they had to believe all their idea was doing was postponing the end, not solving the extinction problem. So, they worked on that dilemma,” I said.

"And that's you?" Capri doubted.

"No. They didn't know about me until five years ago at the earliest and that's highly unlikely. Odds are they found about what Carabolix-37 did to me when everyone else did," I replied. "What happened, happened eight years ago while the W H O was combing over Central Asia building a genetic database."

"What they found was the Warlord of Kwaziristan, the last bastion of male rule on the planet." No, the Warlord wasn't some kind of John Carter of Mars. By all accounts he was a castrated, obese, mostly bald and very old man. During the collapse that Plague engendered, Central Asia went under, their political systems, economies and infrastructures broke down.

In those last few, chaotic years, a recovering soldier and a small detachment of troops found themselves guarding an orphanage. With the city burning down around them, this man was ordered to take the boys and flee. He went to the only place he figured they could hide out until the fighting died down and the authorities could come rescue him.

He went to an old 17th century palace or fortress complex outside his home town in remote Kwaziristan and there he held up while his nation died. Eventually, hope faded and the 'Warlord' began to raid the recovering female tribes for supplies. He had to feed his people. Somewhere along the way, the female tribal leaders figured out he had a large number of young men under his charge.

They struck a deal. The Warlord was worried that the women would steal his men. The women wouldn't storm the place because all those men had guns and killing them all would accomplish nothing, except to stop the raiding. The agreement they reached changed everything, though it wasn't immediately obvious.

The tribal leaders would send young women up to the fortress. In exchange for making the young women pregnant (or one year to pass), the tribes would pay tribute to the Warlord. The catch? The men inside the fortress chose which woman they would mate with and by mate, they meant live together in the same dwelling for months at a time.

It was courtship. It wasn't a plastic romance; it was practical. The men needed the goodwill of the tribeswomen that inhabited the land in all directions. Building up affections and bonds with their female mates was necessary for the survival of the male community. Conversely, the women lived in a mostly male world, from the beginning, the Warlord did have a few female soldiers.

Men were lovers, providers, protectors and housemates. They shared in chores, but compared to what the women had to do in their own tribe, it was nearly paradise. Men still had their military duty, but when you had a mate, you were given quarters in the dungeon of the fortress. Carved out from the depths of the hill the fortress sat on, it was much cooler than the baking heat above during the summers and warmer in the winters.

Enter the W H O eight years ago doing their survey. They ran across a serious problem. Waziristan’s population was 24% above projections (they were supposed to be dying out) and 2% over their previous level. Waziristan was 'surviving.’ Sure, their tiny population was one Black Death away from annihilation, but their numbers where slowly growing, very slowly.

This was great news right up until they found out about the Warlord and his contract with the local towns and tribes. Was the U N really going to say that some old fat eunuch in a clay fortress on a dusty hill in the middle of nowhere was the savior of all mankind? The answer was obvious.

The U N sent in advisors and film crews to show the world how barbaric and primitive the Warlord was. He certainly wasn't photogenic. The men seemed enthusiastic enough. They even slept with some of the film crew. They also became very irate when the women picked up and left. After all, hadn't the women agreed to mate with them?

Why else would women come to the fortress if not to mate? The local women were a bit peeved too, those were their men those floozies were poaching. The U N began fishing around, seeking to convince some of the local leaders to call in the U N to deal with the Warlord. When the Kwaziri women figured that out they got really pissed.

They may have herded goats and sheep, woven wool into fabric and scratched some crops out of the semi-arid soil for a living, but they also knew they had more daughters in this generation than last. They couldn't fight off the U N, there were only a few thousand of them and they lived in near-desert conditions, but they did everything to let those foreign women know they were unwelcome.

In one antidotal tale, a U N soldier guarding the mission found a lost lamb and brought it to a local tribeswoman. The woman promptly beat the lamb to death with a stone, explaining to the horrified soldier that the lamb had been contaminated. In the end, the Kwaziri got what they wanted, the outside world left them alone.

The W H O took gene, blood, air, water, and soil samples and found absolutely nothing that explained this abnormality. The Big Lie was only starting to sink in. Discovery World devoted a portion of a documentary to the Warlord. A fourteen year old boy saw it and regurgitated that memory to a twenty-one year old man in search of understanding.

"I know you are not advocating male rule," Capri studied me. "So what is it?"

"A colossal gamble," I sighed. "I am a freaking liberal arts major. I'm not a scientist, certainly not a doctor and definitely not a virologist, but what if, if stress strengthens the Plague, what if the reverse is also true?" Capri mulled that over.

"You mean, what if love, compassion and respect, as viewed by the male, weakens the Plague?" Capri mused. "Damn right you are not a scientist."

"It was the word Zara used and I believe it was intentional," I persisted. "She said 'courtship.’ She also mentioned men choosing their mates. That's what clicked in my mind."

"So this cockamamie scheme of the Vanishers is based on 'love conquering all'? Crap, we are all going to die," Capri muttered.

"Hey, I'm not saying I'm a convert, but it is the current idea I'm running with. I'm willing to bet Zara's people studied the Kwaziri for some time too," I countered.

"With no cure looming on the horizon, they began recruiting young women from various agencies and branches of service into their plan. Heck, some of the 'Vanishers' may still be thinking this is a sanctioned covert operation. Even those women will want onboard when they understand this society is going down the toilet."

"One of the saddest parts of all this is that the women who set this all in motion won't take advantage of it," I bleakly assessed. "The government will be closing in on them now."

"I wish I could disagree, but I think you are right," Capri nodded. "If you figured it out, someone who does this kind of detective work for a living has put the pieces together as well."

There was no way to hide an operation this big once various intelligence agencies started looking. They would figure out the key military and civilian players. The only thing they could do was to totally detach from the program. Now their baby was out there, running on its own power, directed by people who had already vanished themselves long before any investigation started.

"FBI," I warned Capri. Special Agents Fraklos and Vabishi had come in to our hideaway. Vabishi was showing I D to the girl at the counter while Fraklos was coming our way.

"How did you get away?" Fraklos seemed truly curious. There was a host of good answers and the truth wasn't one of them.

"Come on now," I leaned forward, "Princess Leia didn't beat Darth Ventress, the Empire and the Dark Empress with the help Ewoks alone. She had the help of Admiral Squid."

"Gial Ackbar; a Mon Calamari," Fraklos corrected me.

"Who?" I questioned.

"Gial Ackbar, that was the Admiral's name," Fraklos clarified.

"Is that really important right now?" I asked.

"Having a bad day?" Fraklos turned to Capri. She was asking if I was having a bad day.

"Yeah, pretty much," Capri nodded. "He walked right into a wall about ten minutes ago."

"We need to get him out of here," Fraklos shook her head. "Get him somewhere safe. The Capital is screaming bloody murder over his latest stunt." Vabishi had finished making a quick call and joined us.

"I can't do it," I stood. "I have a date with a V I M at 12:30."

Fraklos stared at me.

"Very Important Mobster," I explained. "If I don't show up they will probably do really bad things to Kuiko and I'm not going to let that happen."

"What is he talking about?" Vabishi worried.

"I am attracted to violent psychopaths and for the love of God, I don't know why," I sighed. "Worse, to hang out with me you have to be insane or prone to fits of brutality. It is how I roll."

"There has to be something we can give Israel to keep him on an even keel," Vabishi asked Fraklos.

"I'm not good enough at that sort of thing to take the chance," Fraklos then looked to Capri.

"Fuck you both," she stood, "I'm a lawyer."

My phone rang. 'G E D' it read. I typed back 'ty' and cut the connection.

"Time to go," I announced and headed for the kitchen. My guardian angels were working overtime.

There are few things as beautiful as competence under stress. Not me. The three women tagging along with a lunatic didn't question me; they divined my intentions and moved to cushion me from the world. By the time we exited the back of the café, Fraklos was in the lead, then me, Capri and Vabishi looking back from signs of pursuit.

"Ewoks," Fraklos guffawed. "We need better code words." Ewoks meant Vanishers and Admiral Squid meant I didn't need to be brought in. Next time we would use different words. Dimples said it was a book cipher, essentially unbreakable if you didn't know the material.

"Be happy I didn't fall over laughing," Capri snickered.

"Israel, you play crazy really well," she added. "I'd feel better about it if you weren't actually crazy."

"Who are we evading?" Vabishi spoke up.

"G E D," I answered.

The problem facing me and Dimples' crew was that we weren't the Vanishers. We couldn't manipulate phone and surveillance feeds. Slipping down alleyways while avoiding loading areas left us in the 'digital dark.’ We were going to reemerge soon.

"We are trying to shift through the chatter and figure out who is really trying to get their hands on you," Fraklos clued me in.

"Montanyard is building such an air-tight case against you she could patch the Hindenburg," Vabishi stated. "She thinks she can hold them off a week." Shelia could hold off the full weight of the Federation Government for a week, one week. I needed a fucking miracle.

(Magdalena, Round Two)

My two FBI ladies delivered me as close to the Prometheus Club as they dared. Mobsters had eyes too, though this was actually a pointless exercise since the moment 'Little M' asked me what I was up to I would bury her in the minutia of truth instead of the real deal. Capri would stick with me. Mainly because the FBI would have to taser her to keep her from my side.

As I entered the restaurant, I was getting a whole new look. It was the 'what in the hell is this guy still doing walking around?' expression. Either I was a maniac or a national resource, or maybe both, not all of them could decide. The maître de pointed me toward the semi-curtained off area. A second later he motioned Capri to the bar. We knew this was going to happen.

On my side of the curtain were two women; one sitting, one standing. They didn't look like, well, what I though mobsters would look like. They looked normal. The standing one ran a 'wand' over me then ran her free hand over my frame quickly.

"Are you hiding anything?" she finally spoke.

I have a love affair with pain. That was all I could think of when I opened my mouth.

"I had my knee caps replaced with high explosives. Does that count?" I stated resolutely. She stared at me for a second then this smile crept over her intimidating countenance.

"Damn, you really are a nut," she snickered. "This way." She put a hand on my shoulder, I trembled and she led me into the V I P area.

Three of the tables were occupied. The closest had Flame and this woman whose face looked like it had lost a head-on collision with a truck. She also looked to be around 250 pounds. The second table, close to an exit, had two Hispanic women who had to be sisters, and pissed that they were missing out on their 'killing kittens' time.

I was dealing with being manhandled, near terror, proximity issues, and being in the company of yet more casual killers. Somehow, all of this had to be my fault. Regular men stay locked in their homes. I needed help. I shrugged off the hand on my shoulder and made a bee-line for Flame.

There was a 'whiff' behind me as my guide tried to corral me back in, but failed. Flame and her 'buddy' (I was pretty sure it was a woman, or a man with huge pecs) stood up. I extended my hands forward and just above my hips. Flame and I collided. Her hands went to my ass. My right cupped her leather clad left ass cheek while my left wrapped fully around her lower back, touching something big and hard.

We did more than kiss. Flame discovered that I had my wisdom teeth removed and I learned that she still had her tonsils. It was also revealed to me that during a French kiss, Flame likes to bite tongue, my tongue, her tongue, it doesn't seem to matter. We were both healthy adults with the experience to know that breathing through your nose is a must.

It took us a while to come up for air. I had pulled her up until she was on her toes. Her eyes were boring holes into mine.

"I need some strength," I whispered to her. Now, there is no great Gestalt among the insane. There is no shared universe, psychosis, or delusion.

What we do share is the fear and pain that comes from being trapped in our own minds. The greatest creation of man, our brains, had betrayed us. We were living a lie because our truths would destroy us. And, worst of all, we were alone. That is why crazy people lash out. It isn't to hurt others, it is to make others stop hurting us, with a reality that we see as a lie.

I breached that inky bubble that shrouded Flame's mind. It didn't make her my friend. It didn't stop her from being a beast and a sadist. We were alone together. Each alone, but knowing that the other was in the same condition. It wasn't understanding, it was kinship. Flame reached up with her right hand, made a fist, and lightly tapped me on the forehead.

"There you go," she smiled. I returned the smile and let her down. As I turned to walk away, she spanked my ass hard. I kept walking, but half-turned so I could shake a finger at her.

"Just for that, no tongue penetration during our next cunnilingus session," I threatened her.

"Oh, you love it, Bitch," she laughed. Turning to her buddy, "That guy is loads of fun."

Belatedly, I came to Magdalena's table. It was a round table, two-thirds wrapped up in a booth. To my right was this weightlifting scumbag, oily, arrogant and stupid. Sometimes people don't try to hide their ignorance. I wasn't sure this guy even knew what ignorance was, much less how to spell it.

He had too much time in a tanning booth, too much chest hair and a cultivated five o'clock shadow. He was also in a chair which suggested he wasn't someone important. Next were two women, dressed nicely, Francesca-nice, not Isobel-nice. They weren't likely to be putting any ships into orbit anytime soon, but they were clever enough to observe before commenting from their booth seats.

In the center was Magdalena in a dark blue Kashmir shirt with a plunging neckline. Damn that woman was proud of her big mammaries. Her jewelry was understated, her hair nicely done and her eyes

Vanishing Manhood: Part 9

Tenth Amendment — Tue, 23 Jun 2026 03:09:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 9

Israel’s Network Debut.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

If you save a thousand, you are soon forgotten. If you save one, you are always remembered.

I picked up the phone and made the call.

"Eloise, you still want your comment?" I said bitterly.

"Of course, Israel," she responded calmly.

"A cop in China murdered six men today," I told her.

"It looks more like assisted suicide," Eloise countered.

"No, absolutely not," my voice shook. "Had those men been able to defend themselves, they would not have been there in the first place. They would have never agreed to go. They wouldn't have even plotted this tragedy out."

"They were utterly defenseless. Society rendered them this way. That cop was only the last in a long line of aggressors they couldn't fend off," I was clearly shaking now. "Saying they were suicides implies they had a choice in the matter, they didn't. Her brother had no chance of doing something like this, none."

"She found out what he wished for and she made the only real choice to be made, to live or die and she chose from them to die. Those men had a final word alright, it was 'Help!' It is the worst kind of cruelty to blame the victims for the crime. Tomorrow the press is going to say it was suicide because they sat there and were slaughtered like sheep."

"Well, duh! You raised us to be sheep. How dare you blame us for acting like sheep when it was suddenly inconvenient for you!" I was screaming. "Their choices were to sit there or fight back but you don't want us fighting back, so they did what you trained them to do. They sat there, exactly like you taught them to."

"This time it was a murderess with a knife, instead of a grabby co-worker, a horny cop, or a gang of women looking to party. You certainly didn't want them saying 'no' those last three times, so why are you surprised they couldn't say 'no' to the former? It isn't a matter of scale. It is a matter of learning to make choices and men aren't given that luxury."

"Is that all?" Eloise said after a long pause.

"Yeah, that's me venting," I sighed.

"'Chinese Policewoman murders brother, five others'," she stated. "That is the headline I'm showing my editor. I like the sheep metaphor. I'll use it. Thank you, Israel."

"Well, shit," Seneca mumbled. "Tomorrow is going to be ten kinds of messed up. I had better get going."

"Yeah," Angel said as she stood to see Seneca to the door. I tagged along until we were all out in the public walkway.

"Sorry about that, Seneca," I apologized.

"Israel, the public is already unhappy with the police's handling of this Vanisher controversy. Now you want them to think that cops are murdering men too," Seneca stated wearily.

"Did we watch the same video?" I grumbled. "She killed all of them, then herself."

"They wanted to die," Seneca countered. I held Angel back. Seneca was her partner.

"Seneca, were they clinically depressed men off their meds, all of them?" I pointed out.

"What about the daycare in Denver? They committed suicide," Seneca reposed.

"Exactly!" I declared. "They struck back. What did those Chinese men do? How did they strike back?"

"Enough," Angel separated us. "Tomorrow is probably going to be a long day for us, so let's get some sleep." Seneca nodded, doubled-back to hug Angel, then offered to shake my hand.

"You make her happy," Seneca explained as I did so.

"It is accidental, believe me," I grinned. Seneca snickered, shook her head then left.

"Everyone, time to go," Angel announced as we stepped back into my condo. It was my place, but Angel was my girlfriend so it was normal for her to make decisions like this. For all the battles I had won during this long day, I would let this one go. Angel was Angel, I wanted my company to go, and I'd get revenge on her in the bedroom.

"Kuiko, you and I are going to have a chat during lunch tomorrow," Angel slipped in there. Oh, hell no, that wasn't going to happen. After people left, I tapped Angel.

"Have you thought about getting some of your things and bringing them over here? Toothbrush and stuff like that, maybe a change of clothes," I suggested.

"Are you sure?" Angel studied me.

"Last time you had to run back to your place I was tuned up by your buddy's buddy," I pointed out. Angel didn't like my explanation but she couldn't deny its validity.

"I'll get some things and tell Roni," Angel struggled to sound upbeat.

The second Angel was across the hall, I called Kuiko and begged her to come back over. She arrived a minute before Angel returned with an armful of things.

"Hey,” Angel began then caught sight of Kuiko.

"Put your things in our bedroom and then we can all talk," I directed.

Now I was making the calls and was daring Angel to be pissy about my rights in my own home. She returned a minute later. Kuiko was in the comfy chair, I was on the floor with my back to the TV screen so Angel took the sofa.

"So, what do you want to talk to Kuiko about?" I dove in.

"Something I think two women need to discuss, just between us," Angel evaded. I was not having that. I knew women very well. Angel would steamroll over Kuiko out of instinct, not reason. I wasn't angry with Angel as much as determined to put my stamp on our relationship.

"Has Kuiko insulted you?" I started.

"No, that's not,” Angel got out.

"Has she left her hallway a mess?" I persisted.

"No,” she grumbled.

"Has she failed to put away her trash properly in the bins?" I glared.

"I get it, Israel. You are no Kinsey Millhone, so you can stop now," Angel allowed. "I want to talk to Kuiko about you." This was not a revelation to Kuiko or me. I had no clue who Kinsey Millhone was, but I had to assume whoever she was, she was a better interrogator than me.

"Let's talk then," I breathed a sigh of relief.

"It is still girl-talk," Angel insisted. I was screwed by her intransience. I wasn't going to hold our affection hostage. That would cheapen what we had. I couldn't give in, that would undercut what little bliss I had accumulated. I had the worst option of all, trust.

"Angel, what can I tell you to convince you to accept Kuiko's place in my life?" I pleaded.

That wasn't what either expected. Angel mulled over her response. Kuiko eyed the door.

"Have less impressive sex!" Capri screamed from the back bedroom. That cut through some of the tension.

"Israel, I become upset when any woman talks about having sex with you, when they trumpet to the World how much they liked it, and want more," Angel confessed.

"Sorry," Kuiko meeped.

"It is not just you," Angel turned on Kuiko. "It is going to be the next girl and the next. God, I hate sounding like some whiney, selfish cunt."

"You are not," I comforted her. "I love you and I think you love me, but that doesn't mean I am going to surrender myself to you."

"No attachments, no marriage on their terms. For me, your declaration is all I need," I said.

"Israel, how often are you going to have sex with other women?" Angel groaned. The emotional shoe was really on the other foot.

"Inside, or outside the coterie?" I responded. Angel mulled that over.

"Israel, I really, really want to ask you to not have sex with anyone else but me," Angel murmured. Kuiko nearly burst into tears. "But I'm not. I have to trust you as much as you've trusted me. Considering how much I've betrayed that trust, I'm glad you've been patient."

"Love, it does not make your life better," I sighed.

"It is easier for me," I added, "because I already have so many other psychoses to deal with, this is nothing new."

"Not funny, Israel," Angel looked me over. "Argh," she growled as she stood up. She did her best venting when she stood, I was discovering.

"I'm trying to give you permission to sleep around, wait," she held up her hand, "but I know it is not my permission to give. I'm struggling to accept this, helplessness."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Kuiko threw herself on her knees and hugged Angel's waist. "I would have given him up, but I truly didn't want to."

For a second, I was afraid Angel was going to yank Kuiko up by the hair and whirl her around the room like some archaic weapon. Angel feigned anger well, she wasn't as out of control as she would lead people to believe.

"Kuiko," Angel sighed, "couldn't you have simply typed 'he was good' and left it at that?"

Angel hesitantly reached down and patted Kuiko's head.

"Angel, I apologize, but it really was the best sex I've ever had, or even read about. I've been such a disaster until Israel. It wasn't just good sex, it was unbelievably good sex," she bubbled. "He made it fun and he made me feel I gave good sex as well."

"I, know," Angel reluctantly nodded. "We had sex too."

"Damn right," Kuiko smiled up at Angel. "You got five hours. I only got one." Then Kuiko stuck her tongue out at Angel and gave her a raspberry. Angel drank in that defiant display.

"You stay right there," she told Kuiko. "I'm going to get my taser and light up your little ass."

"He likes my little ass!" Kuiko declared proudly.

"You are not helping your case," I muttered.

"Kuiko, you do realize when you stood up to those two police officers to protect Israel, you could have been tazed?" she asked her kneeling compatriot.

"Yes. You would have too," Kuiko stated. If only she knew. On second thought, being closely acquainted with violence wasn't doing me any good at all.

"I'm a police officer," Angel reminded her. "I've been tased, it is part of our training. It is not a pleasant experience, believe me."

"I'd still do it," Kuiko pledged.

"I know you would, Crazy K. Now that nickname makes sense," Angel smirked. "Still, I think Israel's battle plan has as few of us getting tased as possible."

"Are we going to fucking bed?" Capri yelled out from the back again.

"Give us a second," Angel yelled back. "Kuiko, what is this about nipple torture?" Whoops.

"Oh," Kuiko replied gleefully. "Since I'm naughty, Israel punishes me by suckling on my whole breast whenever we are alone or with our group. I think I'm supposed to learn a lesson."

"What lesson would that be?" Angel regarded me suspiciously.

"Don't know, don't care," Kuiko beamed. "All I know is his lips, mouth and tongue feel fantastic."

"Trust me, I know how good they feel," Angel sighed. "Go home, Kuiko. Just go home."

"Okay," Kuiko hopped up. "See you tomorrow, Israel." Off she went.

"What am I going to do with you?" Angel regarded me. At least she wasn't angry.

"Have less impressive sex!" Capri chimed in. "Can we go to bed now?" Angel looked back toward the bedrooms then padded that way quietly. I stood and followed. We found Capri in pajama shorts, face down on my bed. She had brought her own pillow.

There were a host of problems. For starters, my bed was a double. It held two people without too much difficulty. Angel and I were above average sized people, if not overly so. Capri was small, in stature. There was nothing wrong with the width of her hips. Capri was in the middle of the bed so Angel and I couldn't have casual, flirtatious contact.

We'd have to reach over her. Angel had just grappled with her 'sharing' issues with Kuiko. Capri's position had no forewarning for either of us, but I was shocked that I was shocked. After all, I had invited a girl into my house. Of course she was going to end up having intercourse with me. I had been so fatigued that I had missed this. It was a scary revelation.

Angel took her taser off the top of the dresser.

"This one I am going to shoot," Angel announced.

"Capri, what are you doing in my bed?" I intervened.

"Oh? Am I annoying you two?" Capri muttered from her pillow. "Forgive me. The continents drifted so much while I was waiting, I thought this was now my bedroom."

"God, give me one good reason not to spark her snarky ass up?" Angel half-joked.

"I, I can't do this," I muttered then slumped against the door. Capri's head immediately popped up.

"Israel, I'm sorry," Capri murmured. She sat up, got off the bed and slipped over to Angel.

If Angel had any animosity toward Capri, it evaporated. Angel did that for me, put aside her own emotions when I needed her the most. Capri had seen me collapse before, but she associated that with some kind of pressure. Like most people, she associated mental trauma with its physical counterpart. If the person began acting healthier, he or she was getting better, recovering.

I didn't have a single knife wound, I had not been thrown under a lawnmower. Figuring out what would flip me out was a nightmare my friends were now sharing in. I had surrendered my safeguards for hope. Even as I was starting to trust others once more, I was trusting myself less and less. I felt those lifeless eyes staring at me, crying out for help and it all felt like too much.

(Tuesday Morning)

"Wake up, Israel," Capri said through my closed door. "Eloise Granger called and she wants you to stop by the Sentinel offices at eight. I'm coming along because I have jack-all job opportunities."

"I'm on the floor," Angel called out from the space between the bed and dresser. She probably been afraid that me waking up next to her in bed would send my mind tumbling again, but hadn't wanted to totally abandon my space.

She let that warning sink in before she sat up. I didn't even know how any of this had worked out. The last thing I recalled was leaning against my door. Here I was trying to make a statement about male dignity and I had to be put to bed like an infant.

"I'm okay, Angel," I told my lover. "Capri, let me slap some clothes on. Any idea what Granger wanted?"

"Yeah, I went to law school so I could be a personal assistant, you jerk," Capri chuckled. "She wouldn't tell me so it must be something subversive. That's another reason I want to come along."

"Cop listening," Angel grunted. "Israel, good dreams?"

"No dreams," I responded. "None I can recall anyway."

"Ah, I don't have a pet name for you," Angel realized.

"Jerk works for me," Capri intruded.

"Shut up!" Angel snapped. "Israel, take a shower."

"When do you have to go in?" I asked Angel as I stood, worked around her and began picking out something to wear. She whipped out her phone and dialed her workplace.

"Regular time in, but I'm working late, there is an M A L rally tonight at Blazer Arena," she informed me.

"That's bizarrely fast," I worried. Angel met my gaze and nodded. I had no clue if the Blazer Arena was scheduled for something that night, but the Federation could easily wield the pressure to make the owner give up the slot. Getting men to show up wasn't too difficult. They simply downloaded the invitations to our phones, along with the metro routes to take from home or work.

With my clothes laid out, I trundled off to take my shower. Had I not kept one fearful eye, and ear, on the door, I would have been happier. I dried off, got dressed and went to the kitchen where Angel and Capri were standing around, not talking. I checked my messages. There was my M A L invitation along with the date for my Civilian Affairs review, my termination hearing.

After several agonizing minutes in silence, Capri finally spoke up.

"What's the plan?" she asked.

"For starters," Angel broke in, "always assume they are listening in."

"As Angel said and right now, we wait," I answered.

"I'm hardly the guy who is going to bring society crashing down. Our goal remains the same, escape. Escape implies there not being enough resources around to run us down."

"This is so wonderful," Capri remarked sarcastically. "Last week I could happily consider all of this a paranoid fantasy. Yesterday I saw a Writ of Exclusion and I have to admit, it scared the hell out of me."

A Writ of Exclusion was the legal vehicle that voided all of a person's civil rights. It was normally used in cases of Treason and Espionage, but in the heyday of the Male Retribution Army, the government had used it broadly to break that terrorist organization. In the decade following the Great Die-out, there had been a small number of men around with police and military training who were now denied their chosen profession.

They organized; the government countered with a plethora of legal means to break those groups then some of those frustrated men went underground. The second time around, the men used all sort of legal means to stymie investigations and being former law enforcement, they knew so many tricks of the trade.

I doubted I would ever know what really happened, whether the proto-MRA turned militant first, or if the introduction of the Writs of Exclusion turned them that way. What few people remember is that over half of the first sheaf of Writs were against women. They were supporting the proto-MRA legally, morally and financially, mothers, sisters, friends and wives.

Eventually, the women were released because the purpose had been to remove them from the equation until the Federation could deal with the men. A whole new regimen of drugs were introduced and the men were 'corrected.’ A few of the survivors lashed out violently against Federation agents and buildings and most fell horribly, or were rounded up.

Had the MRA ever been right, that's when it went off the rails. In Spokane Washington, a (girl's) soccer team was coming back from a match when its bus blew up. The footage of firewomen pulling the burnt bodies of high school athletes out of the wreckage is what would forever be in the forefront of women's minds when they thought of men resisting.

"Israel has had that happen to him twice," Angel sighed.

"What, oh, the whole court-required therapy," Capri noted. During that time, I was always treated with respect, but I could never say 'no' to any part of my schedule. Drugs, therapy, or education, I never had a choice, reprieve, or recourse. I had been a ward of the state.

I cleaned my bowl, stuck it in the dishwasher, I'd run it tomorrow. After that, I quietly gathered a few more dowels and my satchel and stopped to stare at the door.

"I'm with you, Israel," Capri assured me from my side.

"Israel, I could," Angel started.

"Get some sleep. Tonight is likely to suck and Seneca will need you at your best," I said. I turned and kissed Angel good-bye, took a deep breath, and started whistling. I kept it up all the way to the metro station. I knew they would be waiting for me, my fellow commuters, but I did have an unexpected surprise.

As I went from the sidewalk to the metro station itself, two men joined me, complete with some sort of carrying device and a handle-wrapped dowel. I had no idea who they were. I couldn't. Had we communicated, the cops most likely would have pree

Vanishing Manhood: Part 8

Tenth Amendment — Mon, 22 Jun 2026 03:07:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 8

A Human Vaccine Factory, in Israel’s body.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"You Bitches!" Angel hopped up. To clarify my often-used refrain, she took up her jacket and rolled up her sleeve. She had a nice little cotton ball secured by medical tape.

They had taken Angel's blood, she had the anti-bodies which must have been earned the old fashion way, through injection. Four times on Saturday straight into her womb. I didn't believe it could be possible but I had been lowered to the status of an STD.

"I'm not an MD, but how in the hell are anti-bodies getting from him into her bloodstream," Capri intervened.

"We aren't talking about an anti-body," I blinked. "We are talking about a virus and since my daughters and Angel and every other woman I've slept with aren't dead, or even ill,”

"We need to know where the other doses are," Shelia insisted. Everyone in this room knew that there was only one disease that differentiated gender that we hadn't cured long ago.

"Special Agent Fraklos," I pleaded. She was the closest to a medical professional we had, or so I believed. I hadn't known how I would get here when I asked for Dimple's team, Angel, Seneca and Capri to join this little party, but I knew this moment was coming. Fraklos looked scared and there were two great reason for being so.

"Oh, God," Fraklos' Mediterranean features noticeably paled. "Carabolix 37 is a form of the Gender Plague. They genetically altered the plague then gave it to those men to see what would happen. Oh, God."

"Shelia," I turned the lead woman. "I was injected twenty times with Carabolix 37. If Dr. Fremont destroyed her batch, there is no more." She wanted to know so I told her.

"She could have killed us all," Sosa jumped up. "We need to arrest her immediately."

"On what evidence?" Dimples replied calmly. It was nice of her to keep this conversation at a level we could all hear. It implied to me that we were now useful to her in some way. "She is rich, well-respected and has scores of pharmaceutical contracts in the Federation and abroad."

"We have a weird mutation of the Gender Plague, a crazy old ex-cop serial killer and, Israel Jensen, a man whose sanity is always in question. The only leverage we do have is an abnormal number of males surviving their first year," she stated.

"If Israel has some sort of cure," Angel asked, "why did any of his boys die?"
"He was being raped," Fraklos instantly replied. "His plague still reacts in most ways as the normal plague, so it was weakened by the stress he was under."

"Hold on," Seneca spoke up. "You mean Israel is right? Stressing males is killing us off?"

"Please correct me if I'm wrong, but are we saying that Carabolix 37, the correct application of Carabolix 37, creates a virus that kills the Gender Plague in males during their first year of life?" Capri requested to know.

"We would need to study it, but it looks that way," Fraklos took the leap.

"Where do we put him?" Agent Vabishi murmured.

"Oh, I have no idea what time it is, but I need to help Miss O'Hara move into my place before my date with Miss Sano at six," I declared as I stood up.

"You can't possibly believe we will let you just walk out of here," a different agent regarded me with disbelief.

"I got this one," Capri stood by my side. "When did you learn for a fact that we were dying out as a species?" she addressed the feds.

"We were read in this afternoon," Dimples replied. By 'read in' she meant told about the Big Lie the government was involved in concerning our collapsing population.

"Where are you going to put him where he is safer than in the public eye?" Capri stated. "Any secret installation you put him in is the end of the line for the rest of us. Right Shelia?"

She was looking at her tablet, unresponsive.

"But he is our best bet to end the curse of the Gender Plague," Fraklos begged.

"We don't know that," Dimples interrupted Capri. "All we know is that he can save his own offspring, that's all. We know that if there are any doses of Carabolix 37 left, Dr. Fremont is hiding them, along with the research. Can anyone think of a reason we can legally hold Mr. Jensen? Does anyone believe he hasn't fully cooperated with the National Security inquiry?"

"Mr. Jensen, Israel, have you fully cooperated with my investigation?" Shelia Montanyard asked me. It was a formality. I could lie and they wouldn't call me on it. They had no real choice. I knew the feeling and I would be damned if I perpetuated it.

"No. I haven't told you everything," I said calmly. Capri grunted.

"When Dr. Fremont told me about Carabolix 37 she made me relive that memory with the Aurora Slasher, at her mercy, down in her basement. Between that and the beating Magdalena had inflicted on me, it broke me. I'm never going to get my mind back." I looked at them. They didn't know what to make of my little confession.

"But, it showed me the memories of what the Slasher did to me are still inside and when I can, I'll try to go back to them and figure out each and every thing she did to me that might have influenced why the Carabolix didn't kill me. Maybe we can save a few others," I trembled.

"It most likely won't make a difference," Shelia pierced me.

"If I fight, they win. If I don't fight, they win. All I can do is take the best course of action that I can live with," I tried to explain. It was strange to watch them soak in those words. They were winners. Even among women, they were the ones who always came out on top. They were also smart and the enormity of the task ahead gave them pause. Except Dimples.

"I'm satisfied," Shelia announced. "We'll be in touch if we need any more information, Mr. Jensen."

"Thanks, Shelia," I mumbled. Then my mind flipped. "Shelia, get Miss Silverhorn and her team their jobs back. I don't care if you have to send Dimples down and personally kick some heads in or shove Isobel into a dirigible heading for the Artic, just do it."

"Any other suggestions on how I should accomplish that, such as ways that don't break the law?" Shelia smirked. That was it. We were all in it now.

"Tell the Mayor I'm coming back to work tomorrow," I grinned weakly. "Tell her if she agrees to pardon Francesca, you'll stop me." She nodded. Words weren't necessary.

(Moving In and Later)

To keep all those plates spinning in the air, we all had to go back to our lives. For Capri and me, that meant being unemployed (technically we were both suspended without pay until a review was performed). For me it was obvious, I had pulled a 'Prophet of Doom' on the world stage. I was curious as to Capri's final sin. She made it easy.

"I told my boss that I prayed to God she was transgender because if she (her boss) was born a woman, I was seeking out gender-reassignment out of shame," Capri informed me, "with my outdoor voice and her door open." Yeah, that would have done it.

"Do you think she is a tranny?" I inquired. Women occasionally attempted to outwardly look like men for reasons I couldn't explain.

"Nah," Capri snickered. "She's self-conscious about her narrow hips looking too masculine."

We were on the metro; I with three large bins stacked one on top of another in front of me. Capri had two over-stuffed dress bags hanging from one of the metro handholds. The car wasn't crowded, but circumstance wouldn't allow us to move if things looked bad.

"You are that nut from the TV this morning," a strange women pushed my shoulder. I had learned long ago to avoid women having a bad day. You couldn't win dealing with one if you were a guy. It was unlikely you could make her happy in a conventional manner so you sucked up the abuse and prayed she became bored or had an appointment somewhere else.

Capri didn't know about this behavior, or how female-male interactions worked.

"I bet your eye-care provider is pleased that you can recognize people from two meters away," Capri snapped back. The problem was one of numbers and Capri hadn't developed the awareness to understand that Grumpy wasn't alone in her dislike of me.

"Step off, you Cunt," the pissed off women snarled. She pushed Capri who clipped the crates and fell down. Had I my dowel, access to my hard-pressed courage and my back to anything other than more women, I would have shoved back. Instead, I did my best by shielding Capri's body so hopefully she could rise. I could attest to how painful having high heels stomp on your hands could be.

The woman having a bad day lost her fight with her anger. She hauled back and punched me. Or, she would have, but the blow never fell. I heard an 'ugh' and peeked back at my attacker.

"Have you donated blood recently?" a spooky calm voice requested of my attacker. I couldn't see the woman defending me, but she was holding the fist of my attacker a few centimeters from impact.

I knew that tone of voice though the speaker appeared a mystery. It was how the Aurora Slasher sounded whenever she was talking to herself. Totally ice calm.

"What?" the angry one blurted out.

"You never know when you might end up in intensive care, so it is always wise to donate blood under your name, so they have it in your type when you need it," my defender continued.

"Let go of her," a new woman chimed in. My defender let go, but at least I had Capri back on her feet and my hand over her mouth, stifling her curses.

"I can't believe they let a vicious, stupid bastard like you talk on the air," the first woman continued. I struggled for the words.

"I had to do what I thought was right," I responded.

"I can't believe they let you out of jail," she snapped. "Someone should correct you." My defender pushed forward so that her back was to me, but I had caught a look at her face. I felt terrified all over again. It was my first minder from Isobel's party. The one who talked to me.

"I need you to state your intentions at this time," my defender spoke loudly. "I will not let you hurt this man or his companion. If you plan to do so, you will need to get past me first." There were women behind us too, but the declaration was clear.

"Who are you?" a fourth woman demanded.

"You are not behaving in a civil manner so I chose not treat you civilly," my defender replied.

"Do you have a clue what is going on?" Capri hissed.

"I know her as one of Isobel Diaz's guards," I mumbled back. The woman took a second to quickly turn and face me. Her icy façade evaporated into a warm, comforting glow.

"It will be okay, Israel," she winked. "Bravo," and she turned back to face the mob alone. What the hell was I supposed to make of that? Isobel, Vanishers, FBI catchphrases, my lunch was trying to make an acidic comeback. The last bit was anti-climactic. Pre-rush hour commuters don't like getting into fights with someone who acts like they would gladly uses your polished skull as a decoration for Halloween.

They got pissy, they called the cops and nothing happened. Not 'nothing' as in the cops refused to show up. No, it was 'nothing' as in 'no service detected' on their phones. Dimples and Company and the G E D were wondering why they couldn't find the Vanishers, the Vanishers were jacking their tech.

They had jobs that allowed them access to critical information. They were walking around in plain sight. They weren't the Illuminati, they were next door neighbor Jill. Getting away from them was going to be a whole lot tougher than I thought, because they weren't hiding. They could simply walk up and take me with no one being the wiser. Oh, Shit.

She escorted Capri and me off at our metro stop. Before heading off her separate way, the protector introduced herself.

"I'm Zara," she shook Capri's hand. She took me by the elbow and pulled me slightly away.

"I'm glad you were chosen, Israel," she smiled. "We know what is going on and we are working hard to make sure you will be fine. Take care."

I nodded good-bye. What else could I do? My tax dollars, had I ever actually paid taxes, had turned that woman into a killing machine. I wouldn't put money on Zara being her real name either. Until a few minutes earlier, I thought my life was making progress. Now this.

"Man, she really likes you," Capri surprised me.

"What!" I gasped.

"Oh yeah," Capri watched Zara's retreating form. "I was afraid I would have to mop up the drool around the corners of her lips. She is definitely hot for you."

"You are not helping!" I yelled.

"Is there anything else I need to know about this woman?" Capri nudged me.

"Since I would be really upset having to identify your dismembered body at the morgue, no, there is nothing you need to know about Zara," I declared.

"You and your curse, God, I'm glad I'm not you," Capri remarked. "Being your friend is tough enough."

We moved Capri into her tiny room. She jokingly bitched about the size until she saw mine was no bigger. Capri had been lulled into a false sense of economic space by her status as a lawyer and the resultant apartment space Housing Authority had granted her. Since her living arrangements were courtesy of her job with the Public Defender's Office, she was days from eviction.

My position was secure because I was assigned my condo as a gender quota, not as a city employee. I reminded Capri of this gross unfairness.

"If I have to massage your testicles so we can make rent, well, let's leave it with my mom being more disappointed in me than normal," she laughed.

"Tell her you are living with a guy," I suggested. "That has to mean something."

"Good point. That's something my two perfect older sisters haven't managed to do," she conceded. "I know what she'll say, where are my grandchildren? With your poor decision making, I'm sure you picked a dud."

My whole body shook nervously. Capri looked at me with concern.

"I have an idea," I exhaled. I told her what it was and Capri nearly fell over, it was so irreverent. She called her mother and related her most recent tale of woe while her mother looked on in rapt attention.

"I love you, Mom," Capri ended the conversation.

"Keep in touch, Capri," her mother, Charlotte, murmured. "It was nice to meet you, Israel." The older woman was clearly floored as the connection died. See, the entire time Capri and her mother chatted, she was standing, her top half naked, facing the main screen with her lower body shielded by my sofa.

I stood behind Capri, my hands cupping and massaging Capri's breasts and nipples and masking them from view, this wasn't technically porn. Capri's flowing russet hair was pulled over her right shoulder so that I could continuously kiss her from the tip of her shoulder to her earlobe. Capri wiggled around. All I had on were gym shorts, and she extended her hand into the small space between us for me to shake.

"Thank you," she beamed. "We are even. I've waited my whole life to shove any accomplishment in my mother's face. Everything I've ever done, my older sisters did better. Every, single, time. Hey, up for doing my sisters?" I shook the hand.

"We'll have to create something new, in case they compare notes," I insisted.

It was liberating in a way that was nearly impossible to put into words. Sex wasn't fun with Capri, it was funny. It was jovial, nonsensical and teasing with a purpose toward comedy, not foreplay. I could display my body in a way that didn't leave me feeling vulnerable and afraid. I was a joke because I wanted to be a joke, not because I knew the world would see me that way.

We set up her oldest sister in the bathroom, complete with steamy condensation. Capri, dressed in frilly peach colored bra and panties was laying out her story of misfortune to her sister when the older sibling started lecturing Capri on God knows what. I walked in behind Capri. She was holding up her phone so that it caught me from jawline to mid-thigh.

I had a shirt and slacks on this time, so it wasn't overtly sexual. I rubbed behind her, giving the impression that bathroom was smaller than it was.

"Cologne, Babe," I 'informed' Capri of what I was reaching around her for. The sister grew silent. I kissed Capri on the top of her head. "Capri, we have some time," I hinted.

"Again?" Capri muttered in despair. "We just did it."

"I really need you," I purred. I took her left hand in my left and brought it to my crotch. Capri made sure to press the outline of my hard-on several times so that her sibling could see what, in theory, Capri was about to be 'getting again' real soon.

"Sorry, Sara (her older sister), I have to go. You know how pouty men become if they don't get what they want," Capri was very apologetic, and still massaging my manhood.

"Of course," Sara agreed. I doubt she had a clue about what made men pouty. Capri insisted that her 'younger' older sister would handle the next call. We had everything staged.

It was a close call, so to speak. I really had to get going to Kuiko's when the phone rang exhibiting Capri's other sister's number. After several rings,

"Hello, Israel Jensen," I answered.

"Hello Mr. Jensen, this is Melbane O'Hara. Is Capri O'Hara still there?" she asked.

"Um, she lives here," I appeared uncomfortable. I was on the screen from mid-torso to a few inches over my head.

"Oh, if she's not there, can you please tell me where she is," she requested sweetly.

"She's here, she's just, busy," I gulped.

"It is important," Melbane insisted.

"Okay," I sighed and then I looked down. Straight down. "Honey?" There was a slick, popping sound (Capri slurping on two of her fingers then quickly withdrawing them from her mouth) followed by the sound of my zipper going up. My cock had been perfectly safe.

Capri pulled herself up my body, stood to face her sister and wiped up some drool from around her lips.

"Yes, Melbane, what is it?" Capri grumbled.

"What were you doing?" Melbane was aghast.

"Getting an early start on dinner," Capri snapped. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

"You, what, you have a boyfriend?" Melbane stuttered. "You have a good-looking boyfriend?"

"Yeah, and his cock is almost eight inches long and 'this' big around," Capri made a circle with her thumb and finger. She may have exaggerated, a bit.

"But, but why weren't you having intercourse?" Melbane begged to understand.

"Oh no," I interjected. "No vaginal ejaculations from me until she gets a job."

"Ugh," Capri sighed. "Until then it is all 'mouth and ass, mouth and ass.’ I swear, if he wakes me up in the middle of the night going 'let's 69' one more time, I'll scream."

"My vagina is sore from all the sex. I didn't know a vagina could get over-sexed. Melbane, does your vagina ever get too much sex?" Capri sounded intensely worried.

"I can, check with people," Melbane evaded.

"All I know is my lips are starting to chap and my ass hurts when I sit down," Capri groaned.

"I shouldn't complain too much," she became all dreamy-eyed. "I mean, it tastes divine, creamy and rich plus just a bit salty, yummy. I'm sure you

Vanishing Manhood: Part 7

Tenth Amendment — Sun, 21 Jun 2026 03:05:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 7

That point beyond teetering on the brink.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

A tidal wave is a slight tremor, a ripple on the water and the receding of the sea. The wave is but the last act of the play

"Israel, are you going to be okay?" Angel worried.

"Over twenty thousand square feet of pretentious butch women with guns," I joked loudly. "What could possibly go wrong for me here?"

"Angel, I think your guy is unraveling," Seneca whispered to Angel.

She needn't have whispered. I had enunciated at a volume that resonated all over the office space. We had everyone's attention. More importantly to me, I located the woman, or in this case, the group of women, who recognized me. They would be my chief opponents in this hostile territory.

If you run away from women long enough, you start to figure out their hunting habits. Every coterie had a lead lioness and I could tell which one she was. She had strawberry blonde hair and pig-tails and I swear to God, she looked to be fifteen. Her eyes told a very different story. They were cold, bleak and pitiless, yet with a burning fire at their core.

She also had dimples. I had to blink really hard, twice, to make sure my mind hadn't sneaked some freaky mirage into my field of vision.

"I've got him from here, officers," a solid Latina with short-cropped hair ambushed us from the side. She was being polite. It wasn't like there were any choices being made.

"You'll be fine, Israel," Angel called to my retreating form. I couldn't build myself up for a conversation before I was taken to a small room and told to take a seat. I took in the details. The agent didn't have on a name badge, that was meant to isolate me mentally and stop me from trying to ingratiate myself to my captors.

This reinforced my subliminal demons that saw women as faceless aggressors. The room was playing into my claustrophobia. It was also soundproof, playing against my anxiety brought about by a lack of audio stimulation. What my tormentors must not have been counting on was that Sunday had put me past all of this.

Hell, I'd screwed Bethany Fremont and I thought that would never, ever happen again. I'd done it and I'd felt fine afterwards. Dimples the Clown was going to have to do better than this. Better yet, I knew what was coming. First they would wreck my confidence, then they would be my friends who only wanted to help. The blackmail would come later. My pain would be mental, not physical this round.

I hadn't read the Federal playbook, nor was I a master of interrogation. They considered me a dog so they would treat me like a dog, a bad dog. Dimples and company weren't stupid; I imagined they were actually quite bright. Their problem was that they'd been breaking my gender for forty years and very effectively.

The critical difference was that I wasn't an MRA terrorist, or even a criminal in my mind. I had nothing to feel guilty about. They had no leverage and on a visceral level, I wasn't even afraid of them anymore, cautious yes, but not afraid. The man walking into the room was a bit of a surprise. He looked very well-dressed but casual, fatherly if your father was a college professor from an earlier era.

"Hello, Mr. Jensen, I'm Ezra Bryan," he greeted me with a smile. His hazel eyes, ensconced behind round glasses, gave off a comforting glow. He was my friend, just ask him. "I'm here to help you." See? "Can we talk for a bit?" He sat down opposite me before I could respond.

"Can I see your gun and badge?" I asked politely.

"Come now Israel, men don't carry guns. Do you want a firearm?" he remained pleasant.

"Oh," I mused. He answered questions with questions. I knew that trick well. "Where did you get your degree from, Doctor?"

"Holy Cross," he conceded. "Now would you answer a few of my questions?"

I put my hands on my thighs, lowered my chin to my chest and shut out the room. Meditation is a technique best used in an area that is quiet and safe. They had given me only one voice to tune out and, while I didn't trust Dimples, I knew how this escalation would go.

I was safe for now. When the psychiatrist Dimples has sicked on me, realized he was losing to a guy with two semesters of psychology, he broke form and did something you never do, he touched a survivor of sexual assault without permission. See, he was here to find me psychologically unsound so they could imprison me without a trial forever.

His problem was that you can't find someone insane if they are capable of reasoned discourse, thus my initial words with him, but wouldn't talk to you. Obstinate isn't a psychological disorder. It's only rude. I was meditating, someone touched me. Since I've been sensory deprived and touched by people who did me harm, this was bad.

I yelped and fell sideways in my chair. I ate the fear, ate the anger and kept my eyes down.

"What is wrong, Israel?" the Dumbass asked with false sympathy, offering to help me up.

I got up without his help.

"Can I see your tablet please?" I countered. I could play this 'answer a question with a question' thing too.

"I'm sorry, but that has confidential information on it. Why did you fall over?" he kept at it.

I pulled my chair around to the side of the table and took a seat.

"Israel, this is not helping your cause. Don't you want the truth to come out?" he smiled in that paternal style. Yes, this was helping my cause and you didn't want the truth to come out, you Jerk, I thought.

I put my palms on my thighs, my chin on my chest and started to meditate once more. This time he touched me before I was all the way under.

"Israel, you are not helping yourself with this display," Dr. Bryan was getting a little touchy.

"Ezra, what do you call a man who sneaks up on men who do not know him, who have their eyes closed and are either meditating or asleep?" I finally spoke.

"Aren't those some kind of perverts?" I regarded him with the closest imitation of the tone he was using on me.

"Do you see people who touch you as being perverted?" he resumed is babble. I put my palms on my thighs, my chin on my chest and resumed meditating.

On his fourth unwarranted touching, I got up and walked to the door. It wasn't a normal door, it opened out. I guessed that was so someone inside couldn't bar the authorities from entry. It opened which made sense since I was six inches taller and twenty-five years younger than their pet male shrink.

Of course, there were two agents at the door as well. I wasn't planning to sprint for the elevators or closest window anyway. They were across the hallway and unhappy to see me.

"Hi," I greeted them cheerfully as I let the door shut.

"Get back inside," the African-American agent stated firmly.

"Actually, there is this weird old guy in there who keeps touching me every time I close my eyes and try to go to sleep," I pleaded. "Can you please help me?" For a second, they were both confused by my request. They had this misconception they were protectors of the public welfare.

"He's giving you a psychiatric exam," the second agent, this one of East Asian extraction, told me.

"Really?" I doubt I was very convincing in my surprise. "I was raped repeatedly when I was sixteen, so why on God's Green Earth would any healthcare professional touch me without my consent or awareness?" Take that Bitch! There is simply no right answer for that question and everyone listening in on this exchange knew it.

Five doors down, the portal flew open and Capri came bolting out at a dead run with two agents hot on her ass, trying to re-write history.

"This farce is at an end!" Capri O'Hara screamed at the top of her lungs. Sadly, Capri was a small woman and both of her pursuers where superior specimens in all the currently relevant categories.

"Israel, as your legal counsel, I advise you to not answer any further questions without me being present," she got out before they muffled her. The damage was done. I was free, in a very, very limited legal context. This act hadn't played out yet, though, because the next two people out the door were Angel and Seneca.

In retrospect, had I ever actually seen Angel in a fight before she threatened me on Friday, I wouldn't have let her back in my condo, much less my bedroom. I had no fist-fighting experience, but I'd seen a few female fight movies and TV shows, things like the Power Rangers and Black Widow: Agent of SHIELD. I was totally unprepared for the reality of this kind of violence.

Angel drove her fist into the lower back of the rightmost agent holding Capri. That woman screamed, and I mean screamed, in pain before crumpling into a whimpering ball. The agent on the left was really quick. She tried to defend herself and deflected the first blow, later I was told that was Angel's feint, but Angel connected with her chin before the woman could bring the other hand up protectively.

Angel jacked her off the ground. I was stunned the agent was still conscious. Hell's Bells, I was stunned her head was still attached. The federal agent had less than a second to rejoice in that fact before Angel's other fist propelled her over Capri and down in a heap in front of my lawyer. Seneca had no fears about her partner's combat expertise.

She had spun around to the door that seemed to hold everybody, held up her hand, put her other hand on her sidearm and was loudly begging everyone to calm down. Dimples' crowd kept pouring out of the room, their hands falling to their weapons as well. Shelia joined the mob followed by Dimples herself.

The agents beside me were in a quandary. I was a witness, not a suspect, but I wasn't someone they trusted to remain sane. I had to admire their teamwork even though it was working against me. The East Asian put her forearm to my neck and pushed me hard against the wall next to the door. The African-American put her hand on her taser and took up a defensive posture.

The only noise was the first agent's whimpers. Capri was the only one moving, shrugging off the kinks she'd earned from the grapple and stooping beside the second, unconscious, agent. Capri drew forth that woman's taser.

"Put it down," the darker skinned agent warned.

"Put it down or we will put you down, Miss O'Hara," Dimples spoke in the sweetest voice. I wondered if she was a Care Bear in a previous life. Most likely 'Let the Right One in' Care Bear.

"Stop with the empty threats, you pack of weasels," Capri snapped. "Now listen the fuck up."

"One of three things is going to happen," Capri started.

"I said 'put it down'," the African-American agent stated firmly.

"You are going to release my client so that we can talk, I'm going to taser you and then the cunt who is assaulting my client, or you are going to taser me," Capri finished.

"Wish granted," the agent snarled.

"You do realize that once she drops I have a clear shot at you, right?" Angel notified her.

"You don't have your taser drawn," the African-American agent stated.

"No," Angel extended her pistol past Capri. "I have my sidearm."

"Now, as I was saying, you have three options and you lose big time in the last two," Capri grinned like a vindictive leprechaun.

"She won't shoot," Dimples referred to Angel. "The odds of Mr. Jensen being caught in the cross-fire are very high."

"Irrelevant," Capri snorted. "Because I'm about to shoot you," she started raising her taser.

"Last chance, Lady," the agent warned.

"Do you want to know why you are fucked?" Capri scoffed. "See these are all government issued weapons and every time one is discharged you have to write an incident report."

"That isn't your taser. You stole it," the agent pointed out. I saw Shelia Montanyard flinch minutely.

"Hey, FedLawBitch," Capri snorted (she was addressing Shelia, I would learn later). "Just because my law school offered night classes doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Bronson v. Michigan."

Only two people understood that, Shelia and Capri.

"Bronson v. Michigan doesn't apply," Shelia bluffed.

"The Supreme Court disagrees. It has been applied two times in the past seven years and since this is a government building, the dumb bitch on the ground is a government law enforcement agent, and since Mr. Jensen is a person of interest to the court,”

"Put your weapons down," Shelia conceded.

"What?" the African-American agent blanched.

"Holster your weapon," Dimples spoke again. "While Miss O'Hara is within her rights to shoot you, you are not within your rights to shoot her. Do you want to get tasered?"

"Oh, and the cops are covered by Bronson as well," Capri waved her hand over her shoulder. "I am an officer of the court and your two brigands were assaulting me and keeping me from my legal duties. Go after them and I'll nipple twist you so hard, Miss Montanyard, your screams will make your law school professors fall over dead in shock."

"Noted," Shelia nodded. She wasn't giving up so much as repositioning for the next offensive. Before my time there was a military term tossed around called 'Shock and Awe.’ From the look on the faces of Dimples and Shelia, they had thought they were the French army invading Monaco only to discover they had invaded Switzerland by mistake.

They thought they'd spend half a day rounding up the local constabulary then have dinner on the beach, in this case, the Federation Capital. Oh no, they could still see victory on the horizon but beyond all predictions, they were really going to have to work for it. Right then, the door to my interrogation room opened and the doctor looked out.

"Is everything fine?" he inquired.

"Oh, Dr. Bryan, I'm informing every institution on the planet that pretends to know anything about medicine and reporting your gross negligence. When I'm done with you, even the W H O won't use you to clean their toilets," Capri glared.

"What did I do?" he looked around, shocked.

"You touched a post-recovery rape patient without their consent, repeatedly, even after he was clearly uncomfortable with it," Capri snapped.

"He is Post-recovery," the man stated.

"Were you incapable of reading his file dating from yesterday morning in which the police report my client having been beaten black and blue by unnamed assailants? He didn't press charges, but it is still an open investigation. The G E D frowns on people running around and beating up men, so there actually is a use for those douches after all," Capri snarled.

Dr. Bryan had this wide-eyed, stunned expression. Eventually his gaze settled on Shelia and Dimples.

"He's not what you said he'd be," the man blathered. "His profile is all wrong. The man is totally mad, I tell you. Give me more time and I can prove it."

"Doc," I said calmly. "I suggest you exit this building as soon as possible and hurry home before they cancel your travel voucher."

"Mr. Jensen," he turned on me desperately. "You are psychologically very ill and you need professional help."

I just smiled. He was right. We both knew he was right, but I had trapped him before he trapped me. A week ago, I would have snapped like a branch in a tornado. The women around me, for good and ill, had scraped away all the scabs and scar tissue that I'd let build up over the years until all was left was the raw open wounds.

My blood was on fire and my mind a hurricane of thoughts, wants and desires. I wasn't a man grown to adulthood by continual experience. I was shards of all of those stages of my life, jumbled together into some slipshod construct that staggered forth from encounter to encounter. Dr. Bryan had lost because I could be a seventeen year old survivor one second and the man lying on the floor, laughing while Flame beat on me the next.

Had they given Dr. Bryan time to work on me, develop his skills to my condition, he would have cracked me in a few days, a week at the most. He was a psychiatrist, and most likely a good one to be working with the FBI, and I was, in fact, insane. This was my victory. I had forced Dimples to expend a weapon for no gain. I wasn't sure Angel would get it.

Two hours later found us in a much larger room, laid out in a comfortably cluttered manner. It was terrain psychology all over again. Was I to believe a federal agency as big as this didn't have clean conference rooms for us to use? As it was, Capri and I were on one side of the table. Angel and Seneca were on the edge of the table closest to the main door.

That left Dimples and company to spread out over the other half of the room. Their body language was laid back and unaggressive, they had bought this Indian-Italian fusion feast and they were bantering back in a non-gender specific manner.

"What does this tell you?" Capri turned to me as she finished a forkful of garlic pasta.

"Special Agent in Charge Enola Treyvon's (Dimples actual name) team are man-hunters," I said as I gulped down my food. By that I meant people who hunt males professionally. If you thought about it, male criminals had to be rare. We all had bracelets that any woman could ask to see on demand, thus in network, so tracing us wasn't all that hard.

Also, if we broke the law, we had to take drugs which made committing crime inconvenient. If we were violent, they had drugs for that too. A man having an illegal firearm was bad, but being a woman who gave a man a gun was much worse. Since the MRA hadn't been active in over a decade, it didn't make sense that the Federation's chief law enforcement agency would have tons of these kinds of specialists floating around.

I was about to say something else when 'nothing' caught my attention. A man has to watch where he is, how he stands, what he says, who is listening and how the women around him are acting. It is Male Survival 1 O 1. The savannah looked safe but the bushes held deep shadows.

"They were tipped off to be here by Detective Angel Kristi," I nodded to Capri.

"You do realize that sticking your cock in a garbage disposal is a crime, right?" Capri laughed.

Angel flinched. She was guilty after all. Seneca was glaring hate Capri's way. The feds were being very polite about the whole thing. I turned on Capri, mouth agaip.

"Oh my fucking God!" I exclaimed. "Let me check something out." I stood up.

"I advise you to go with caution," Capri warned me. I walked around the far side of the table (away from Angel and Seneca), over to the Latina who had snared me earlier. She was sitting, but I was hardly intimidating her. I knelt before her which finally got some sort of reaction from the federal agents. They were attentive. The Latina was keeping her eyes level with mine.

"Angel," I looked toward my lover, "she uses the same shampoo as you." You see, I had no doubt that this agent had memorized every visual aspect me myself, Capri, Seneca and Angel, but scent? For a second, she turned her head to look at Angel. I backed away then stood up. "Oh sweet Lord, I wish I wasn't right so damn much. Janice Bourne," I gulped.

See, the shampoo thing had been a total bluff.

Janice Bourne was the protagonist in a series of spy novels where the male characters were somewhat interesting for a change. In one, a guy actually kills a female assassin with pruning shears. That wasn't the relevant issue.

"They've got Cochlear implants," I clarified.

The technology was hardly new, but it was a bit intensive and expensive

Vanishing Manhood: Part 6

Tenth Amendment — Sat, 20 Jun 2026 03:03:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 6

Inside; my mind was a beaten, whipped, and shattered eighteen year old boy.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

A tidal wave is a slight tremor, a ripple on the water and the receding of the sea. The wave is but the last act of the play

I trekked to the metro station with the jauntiness of a sixteen year old, not a care in the world and the mind of a maniac. My neighborhood was no longer running off a cliff, we were in free-fall. It turned out two of the eleven surviving males in my district were homosexual. It was bound to happen in any population of large enough size (as in the total number of males in the country).

Mind you, Farad and Jimmy were doing their part. They had sex with women and were apparently rather good at it, performing above standards and more than the required once every twenty-eight days. That didn't matter. They were homosexuals and they had to be corrected so a tactical unit went after them Sunday afternoon.

Unfortunately, both Farad and Jimmy knew something was up, or were simply sick of the sneaking around. They had a plan. They had converted a van into a mini-mobile home, complete with multiple propane canisters. They also made zip guns to defend themselves. The tactical team knew about the guns, but not about the canisters so they went in with rubber bullets.

Sadly, rubber bullets penetrate propane canisters and electricity (aka Tasers) ignites the gas. I'm not sure how many canisters they had but the resulting explosion vibrated glasses in my condo a kilometer away. Scratch two more sperm-jockeys. Now there were only nine of us (actually, only eight, but I didn't know about the one who had vanished a few hours earlier, yet).

Inside my mind was a beaten, whipped and shattered eighteen year old boy rattling the bars of his cage and screaming at me to stop what I was doing. He begged me to save myself the humiliation and pain. I couldn't listen to him anymore. Hiding hadn't been surviving; it had been delaying the inevitable. I wasn't fighting, that would be stupid. I was resisting.

I was wearing really nice jeans, courtesy of Bethany, a nice white shirt with the sleeves partially rolled up, with a tailored jacket over one arm and a satchel strapped across my body. I also had a twelve inch baton with the handle taped to give me a firmer grip. I smiled, nodded to a few ladies and even said 'hello' to a few others. Basically, all the wrong things for a man to do, unless he's a prostitute.

I doubt any of them noticed the baton. That wasn't the wood they were looking at. The first one wasn't even remotely difficult. The predators had gotten sloppy, lazy, arrogant and careless. She was blonde, mid-thirties maybe and I'd seen and been groped by her before. She breezed up behind me, patted my ass and was about to say 'hey' or something like that.

I snatched the hand that had just touched me, yanked it up and smacked her in the head with the baton. It was meant to sting, not crack her head open and I'd been practicing last night.

"Ow! What the, ?" she squawked.

"You sexually assaulted me; I was defending myself," I grinned savagely. "We can check the video from the camera I'm standing well in view of if you like."

"You hit her," Fatima came sputtering my way.

"It would certainly look that way, wouldn't it," I kept smiling.

"Why?"

"She sexually assaulted me," I reiterated.

"All I did was touch you," the first woman said.

"Check your laws, ladies," I used my authoritative tone. "Touching another person without their consent is assault. Touching a person in a sexual zone, in my case, the lips, pubic area or, buttocks is considered sexual assault."

"Also according to the law, I am allowed to defend myself, or another person under threat of harm, with enough force necessary to remove myself, or that person, from danger," I lectured.

"All she did was touch your ass," a third women joined in. They were really starting to gather around now. The metro was almost here.

"And I hit her with a stick for doing it too," I glared at her.

"You can't run around beating people with a stick," Fatima threatened me.

"As long as it is in self-defense, I most certainly can, as can any citizen," I pointed out. "What twisted evil thought process could make any of you think you can touch another person against their will? Come on now, that's just sick."

"But you are a guy," a fourth woman struggled and failed to make sense of the situation.

"That's discrimination and that's against the law too," I flashed her a bright smile. The metro arriving put an end to the conversation, but I had to put knots on the foreheads of two more women before I made it to my seat.

The Metro Cop came for me two stops down the line. I wasn't belligerent, I handed over the baton when requested and I watched her fend off the angry commuters around me. I had the law right. I explained that I couldn't afford a taxi so this was my only way to work. The police officer informed the women that I was legally correct and to stop antagonizing me, hallelujah.

The best part was after the cop left and the metro started rolling again. The women were seriously looking for some payback. I grinned, unzipped my satchel and drew forth my second dowel. They looked flabbergasted.

"Yeah bitches, I'm smarter than you are," I chuckled. None of them harassed me.

It wasn't much of a victory. In their minds my resistance was all my fault, not theirs. Anyway, groping was something women did casually. They weren't expecting a connection. I had robbed them of their second shot of espresso in the morning, that's all. Or, it would be all, if it was only me. As I told a disbelieving Angel, I had a plan.

Coming out of the metro stop by City Hall, I caught sight of a woman who nearly caused my heart to freeze in fear. It was one more step and I took it. She saw me and looked cocky. I smiled and headed right toward her. I imagined she was about to inflict (further) pain on my person when I wrapped her up in a hug. Her colleague looked equally dubious as to my intent.

"Flame!" I greeted her. "How the hell are you doing?" I kept my arms around her, titling back so we could make eye contact while my crotch was pressed against her stomach. I hadn't realized how much shorter she was than me during our first encounter, the one where she beat me half to death.

"We need to talk," Flame regarded me quizzically. She was insane, if not insane like me.

"Sure," I nodded. I leaned in, kissed Flame, aka Brigit, on the lips then turned us so that we both faced up the sidewalk to City Hall. She slid a hand around my waist and I followed suit.

"Miss me?" Flame teased. 'Every time I breathe' was the proper reply.

"With all the sane chicks around me," I sighed. "I think you're the only one who understands." Flame found that hilarious. She was a raving psychopath after all. My hand started stroking her ass. Flame actually leaned into me in what might have been construed as a romantic gesture. I sure as hell wasn't going to ask her.

The three of us arrived at a doorway somewhat off the well-traveled path.

"Little M wants to see you," Flame purred, holding me face to face and close. "Prometheus' at 12:30 tomorrow for lunch." Flame's buddy still looked like she expected me to rabbit at any second, which I found oddly amusing. Where would I go?

"Are you going to be there?" I murmured to Flame.

"Yeah," she rubbed up against me.

"I'll show up," I agreed. I kissed Flame again but this time with much more passion. As I broke it off and returned to the route to work, I smiled at the other mobster.

"I know, she's going to end up driving an ice pick through my eye somewhere along the line, but it will be worth it," I referred to Flame. I couldn't tell what the goon thought.

"I love this guy," Flame laughed and slapped her buddy. "He's tons of fun." Until that encounter, I thought nothing could make me even remotely happy to city CH Security.

They did their usual rigmarole but when they came to my small collection of batons, they become curious.

"What are these for?" one asked me.

"They're curtain dowels, with surgical tape so they don't slip," I replied innocently.

"They are awfully small," she noted.

"Small windows," I bantered back. She put them back in my satchel and handed it to me. Had I given a crap I would have complained to Francesca about the intellectual quality of our security force. Admittedly, curtain dowels aren't great weapons, but still, it is a 12 inch freaking stick.

I whistled as I left, in the elevator and down the hall to my work station as if this was the best day ever. Bethany homed in on me immediately.

"What are you wearing?" she blinked.

"Clothes you bought for me some time ago," I replied pleasantly.

"That's not proper work attire," she explained.

"Yep. You got that right. Is there any other obvious things you want to point out, or can we get to work now?" I kept grinning.

"Israel, what's gotten into you?" Bethany was getting annoyed.

"You are right," I nodded. "That is a problem we should address. Come with me," I demanded as I grabbed her by the wrist and started to drag her out of the office.

"What's going on?" she resisted.

"As you pointed out, there is a problem of what's gotten into who and I think I can correct that," I said happily.

"We are going to have sex, now?" she gulped.

"Now or never again," I told her. "Your choice." She had claimed I was the best cock she'd ever had and I was about to find out if that was true. She came along meekly. I rushed us into the Women's Room, pushed her into a stall and bent her over a toilet.

"Israel, I'd like, Ow!" she yelped as I yanked her panties off. Unless she had a spare set in her desk, Bethany was going commando for the rest of the work day. She tried to turn around but I wouldn't let her. Thankfully, Bethany always warmed up quickly because I had neither the desire nor time for some good cunnilingus.

I did have time for a good hard fucking though and I intended to slam the hell out of her. Bethany tried to remain in control and quiet but I knew all her weak spots and I doubled up on them all. She was howling and screaming to God Almighty just like the old days. If she thought this was an apology, she was sorely mistaken. She was sore alright and this was punishment.

Unlike all my previous efforts which had been fuelled by love, this was driven by hate, rage and a desire to inflict pain. Bethany couldn't even grasp the significance, though she felt this was something new for us. Bethany didn't even care that she was being screwed by a man who was clearly unhinged.

Only after I left her a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor did she wearily look up and realize I was still hard.

"You didn't cum," she whispered. She was pretty hoarse.

"Of course not. I'm not letting you or your mother within a thousand meters of my sperm," I patted her on the head. "Let's get to work."

I showed up thirty minutes early to work because I was in my second week of training. Bethany and I were seriously late getting back to our desks. No one said a thing. They just looked. I took perverse pleasure when Bethany actually stumbled getting to her station. She looked like she'd been hammered by a hurricane and couldn't decide if she liked it or not.

I think way back when, they called that a grudge fuck. I hadn't surrendered to Bethany, I had used her like she used me, for my own selfish reasons and profit. I had unleashed plenty of negative energy that would complicate things later. I needed to be as reasonable as possible and she'd helped me with that, by giving me her body and letting me use it as I wished, if not how she intended.

I didn't feel bad about it one bit. I hadn't lost ground. I hadn't turned Bethany into a faceless entity. I had come at her knowing right who she was and what she deserved, from one royally pissed off human being to another, 'should have been more fucking careful about what she asked for', human being.

I didn't last two minutes at my desk before Francesca summoned me.

"Care to explain?" she scanned my clothing.

"All I can say is that I apologize if I disappoint you, Miss Francesca Silverhorn. You have tried really hard to be decent to me," I gave her the first genuine smile of the morning.

"But?" she waited for it.

"But, in next year's dictionary they are going to have my picture beside the definition of 'aggressive'," I shrugged. "It will probably do double billing with 'dumb ass.’" Francesca laughed. She didn't even try to hold it in.

"Good luck with that Initiative, Mr. Jensen," she chuckled. We were both going to Hell. "There is a press conference at ten-thirty concerning the Federation's new program. It is called Men's Action League. It plans to further invest men in the governing process."

"Wow, my career is going to end sooner than I thought it was," I snorted in amusement.

"Anything else I need to know before I go, Captain my Captain?" I really liked her.

"GNN and a half-dozen other stations are covering this live. You're microscopically famous now and yet they sense an epic public relations catastrophe in the making," Francesca fed me the news, "and they want to be there when it happens."

"I won't let you down, Jeffe," I smirked.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she shook her head. "But, I'm starting to think the future isn't going to be all that bright and cheery anyway."

I gave a crummy salute, about-faced and returned to my desk. There was a notice on my computer to contact Miss Cho.

Damn it, how was I supposed to get any work done? I called and she told me come right up.

"Are we ever going to finish what you started last Monday?" I teased. Was it only one week?

"Maybe," Miss Cho sounded coy. Fat chance I'd ever do anything with her. She was an evil henchman.

"Okay," I laughed because she didn't have a clue to her own barbarity. I warned Francesca where I was off to then headed up to the Mayor's Chief of Staff's offices. Miss Cho gave me a smile then waved me in. Whatever Isobel was going to say was lost when she caught sight of me.

"What are you wearing?" she snapped.

"Clothes?" I responded. That didn't seem to mollify her. "Casual clothes?"

"Get into the proper attire before the news conference and you'd better not fuck it up or what security did to you Thursday will seem like a walk in the park after I get through with you. Do you understand?" Miss Diaz growled.

"I understand," I parroted back. I understood that I didn't give a damn about what she said. Come on, it wasn't like I woke up thinking this was Sunday. I knew exactly what I was doing, who it would piss off and how little I would care about that.

"Fine. Now what did Magdalena Keverich want with you?" we got down the reason I was there.

"Me in particular? No clue. I know she wasn't happy with my performance, she likes people to watch and she's very demanding," I informed Isobel.

"What did she want to know about me? About us?" she pressed.

"Us? Lady, there is no us," I grew angry. "I don't know you and I don't want to know you." I took a quick inhale and launched again; "Screw it all, I didn't want to go to your damn party, I didn't want to meet her and I certainly don't want to relate my shitty experience to you," I added. "Let me straighten you out; if you were drowning, I'd toss you an anchor. If you were asleep in the tub, I'd pour in quick drying cement then hold you under with a broom."

"If you were paralyzed, I'd cover you in honey and leave you in the path of army ants. Are we clear now?" I growled. "I hate you. I hate what you represent. I hate this whole sick society that allows you to exist and prosper."

"You didn't answer my question," Isobel kept trying to break me with her eyes.

"Ugh," I sighed. "I don't know anything, but if I did, I wouldn't tell you. I don't know in what nightmarish fantasy you imagine that woman would tell me anything, but glaring at me isn't going to help. You can't touch me."

"I can't?" she replied sinisterly.

"Yes, Ma'am. I've made my peace with God and said good-bye to the ones I love," I snickered. "I'm bulletproof." I saw the light go off in her eyes. She finally realized I'd lost my mind. There was no rational response to my challenge because I was no longer rational. Circumstances had intervened so that I simply couldn't 'go away' either.

There were too few men left and I had a flicker of popularity. She wanted to believe that she'd get me later, but she had looked into my soul and knew I had no 'later.’ This was it. Her ability to grind me up was only a threat if I planned to leave anything to be ground.

"We are done here," I dismissed her. I turned and walked away.

"We are done when I say we're done," she seethed. I already had the door open and was half-way out. I raised up my left hand like a sock-puppet.

"Did you hear something?" I asked my hand.

"It sounded like a feminine 'poof'," my hand responded in a shrill voice.

"Whatever it was," I nodded sagely to my hand, "we had better not hang around in case it stinks up the room." There were six people and Miss Cho in the office, staring at me with wide eyes. I could hear Isobel's blood boiling. "Have a good morning everyone," I waved to the room and quickly exited the main door.

I decided that the elevator was a trap so I took the stairs instead. I didn't get two feet inside the door before Selma pointed me to Francesca's office.

"Oh, God," Francesca moaned. "I'm stunned my screen didn't melt. What did you do this time?"

"Ah, um, ah," I struggled for the words. "I dismissed her from our conversation and while exiting her main office, I insulted her with a hand or sock puppet, in front of witnesses."

"Wow, you do realize you now qualify for two minority hires; you are male and clearly mentally handicapped," Francesca tried not to smirk.

"You are welcome, Boss," I grinned.

"Oh, and she wants you in proper attire when you get on stage in, twenty minutes. I promised her you would be. Do you plan to change?" she inquired.

"Nope," I rolled my shoulders.

"Okay," she nodded. "Just checking. You need to be briefed by Selma on the latest developments. Are you and Bethany reconciling?"

"No,” I drew that out. "I used her for my own carnal frustrations, that's all."

"We know," Francesca looked amused. "We all know. We had some women from the second floor come up to see if someone was dying, or being murdered. In the future, you might want to offer another girl in the office a chance, take that as a suggestion."

Hmmm, second floor. We were on the fourth floor. This building had pretty good acoustics. I walked over to Selma. You know your co-workers respect you when they attribute God-like powers to your actions.

"We are going to die, aren't we?" Selma stared at me intently. "We are going to lose our jobs and be blackballed from anything associated with

Vanishing Manhood: Part 5

Tenth Amendment — Fri, 19 Jun 2026 03:02:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 5

Being a human ‘Guinea Pig’.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

The Titanic was sunk by snowflakes that fell long before mankind first forged iron

Once, way before I was born, they might have called me a 'nice guy.’ I wasn't sure what it would have meant back then but tonight it was a weak-willed male who caved-in to the desires of the women around him.

"Compassion only goes so far," I struggled to articulate. "If I say no, what do you do next?"

"That's the rub," she shared a secret smile. "Thirty years of research have not been totally in vain. We know one of the key causes of the plague's mutation, physical and mental stress."

I stared, I stared, I stared then I laughed loudly.

"You treating us like second class citizens is finally biting you in the ass?" I tittered insanely.

"We made logical decisions designed to save the human race," Delilah reasoned calmly. "There were factors we didn't take into consideration. Besides, the majority of men don't seem to mind so much."

"If that was the case, we wouldn't be dying out," I countered.

"Still," I reasoned, "if women," at least the women in charge, "know, why aren't they doing something to make the lives of men easier?"

"Please, Israel," her eyes danced. "Where would it stop? Men would demand everything and the female population has come too far to give into male extortion now."

"We are not going to roll back the clock two hundred years on women's rights," Delilah said. "So we keep a lid on things until a cure becomes available. That's where you come in. You are a very promising lead."

"A promising lead to what?" Maggy asked, rescuing me from this mortifying conversation.

"For finding happiness," Delilah smiled at me.

"Interesting. Does that apply to all of us, Dr. Fremont, or just you?" Maggy inquired.

"Neither," I fought for my center. My mind raced but my thoughts were focusing down to a few salient points.

"You have a jammer," I said to no one in particular.

"Of course," Delilah nodded in appreciation of my non-idiot-hood. "Not everything needs to be committed to electronic memory."

"That sounds positively criminal," Maggy purred.

"Lady, Maggy, you have no idea," I muttered. She found that utterly amusing.

"We will talk more about this later, Israel," Delilah winked. "Try giving Bethany one more chance. She could be useful to you."

"I look forward to having no other options," I gulped. Delilah laughed as she left me out on the balcony with Magdalena.

"From what I've heard, you are an oddity for one of these functions, Mr. Jensen," she said.

"First time here," I noted absently.

"For both of us it seems. That's not what makes you so appealing though, or your very fortunate lady friend," Maggy smiled.

"The fact that I'm acting like I don't want to be here?" I hoped.

"I doubt it. It is the fact that you are tip-toeing on the precipice of sanity, Mr. Jensen," she clarified.

"You can call me Israel," I suggested.

"You can call me Maggy," she reiterated.

"I think I'll call you Magdalena. Maggy is a nice, warm, friendly name. Magdalena reminds me that behind your glittering teeth is a soulless carnivore," I told her.

"You really don't know who I am, do you?" Magdalena regarded me studiously.

"Nope," I shrugged. "I'm not terribly interested in knowing who you are either. I didn't come here to get nice and cozy with the dark side of human nature, sadly, I failed in that desire, and all of you have the misfortune of being found both useful and morally pliable by Isobel Diaz, which puts you all in the aforementioned 'dark side of human nature.’"

"You really don't know who I am?" she blinked in shock. "I would normally assume you were a trap set by Isobel, but you really don't seem to give a crap who I am."

"Good. We are on the same page," I noted.

"Israel, I find you fascinating," Magdalena declared. "This doesn't happen often. In fact, the last time a male truly interested me I was, nine."

"Oh," I groaned. "For the love of God, tell me what it is and I'll correct it. Whatever it takes for you to turn around and walk back inside, forgetting everything I've said and done that you find the slightest bit interesting, please tell me what it is and I'll do my best to do it."

"No, I don't think so," she smirked. "I am a soulless carnivore, as you mentioned."

"I'm not sure what it is about you that I like, but there is something there," she mentioned. "Until I find out what it is, I'm going to keep an eye on you."

When you build a levee to withstand a flood you do it in anticipation you know how high the river will rise.

From the age of sixteen, the water had been rising. There was no design to it; all chance. Chance had led me to Bethany Fremont. Bethany had led me to Isobel Diaz. Bethany and Isobel had led me to Delilah Fremont. Isobel had also led me to Magdalena, whoever she was, except in the politics of female status, Magdalena had brought Isobel to task over me and Isobel didn't like that.

This might leave me to believe that Magdalena could shield me from Isobel. Unless all of this was an elaborate psychological ploy to raise my hopes only to slap them down at a time of Isobel's choosing. At that rate, I wouldn't need for G E D to put me away; I'd fracture my mind all on my own. To get out from under this, all I had to do was not take the bait.

Paraphrasing what I had told Kuiko, using the lion to drive off the leopard doesn't do the zebra any good. Even if Magdalena was a real enemy of Isobel, giving her a tool to use against the evil sow didn't make me anything better than a tool. I turned and leaned over the railing.

"You are not going to jump, are you?" Magdalena moved toward me.

"Are you encouraging me and angling for a better view," I muttered, "or are you trying to stop me on the off chance I've lost my mind?"

"I've seen enough death," Maggy told me. "Normally I can tell the type, the ones who have given up hope, but you are, what's the term, a Janus?"

"Do we really want to discuss the state of my mental health or how it was shaped?" I questioned. I caught some movement behind me, by the door. "Wouldn't you rather explore your favorite body oils and silk sheets versus cotton blends?" It was my two minders. "Oh look, your friends are here," I turned to the two ex-military security types.

"They are not my friends," Magdalena informed me.

"I don't care. Four-ways cost extra," I joked feebly.

"How much would that be?" Magdalena regarded me.

"Not a clue," I sighed. "Until tonight, I had successfully avoided being a prostitute."

"Do you know the first thing about prostitution?" she stared intently, even angrily.

"I doubt four year old boys want to grow up to be whores," I stared back.

"How did you come by this insight?" she countered.

"I know what it is to be a man, have someone demand sex and not being able to say 'no'," I expressed with sad eyes.

"It is a business after all," she pointed out. "As a chef, you don't always get to determine who your clientele are either. You still are expected to prepare a meal."

"You sound like a pimp," I enlightened her. Magdalena smiled and snorted in amusement.

"I've been called worse," she admitted.

"I don't think those two are going to leave us alone," she added. "We might as well go inside."

We went inside and I vaguely remembered meeting various women, none who I could have described five minutes later. It was a testament to how far I'd fallen in the past few hours that I didn't even flinch when I was 'bid' on, all in the name of some charity, and bought.

Perhaps I should have worried about Magdalena buying me for the evening. Maybe I should have noticed how not very many women, or teams of women, vigorously pursued the bidding for me. In retrospect, I should have been impressed, but there were things I would only find out later that I didn't know then.

As I said, I really didn't care what was going on until I was alone with Magdalena once more.

We walked into the penthouse reception area, I'd come in the servants' entrance, where we picked up two frightening women. They were dressed in casual chic but possessed the characteristics of very hungry wolves.

The first one was tall, almost as tall as me. Her dusky skin spoke of a parentage on four continents. She had black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that went half way down her back. She looked me over, then through me, never saying a word and barely acknowledging me. I called her Silent for lack of given name.

The second girl was shorter, maybe 5'6 with tanned skinned, short cropped black hair and barely contained rage. She had a flame tattoo that came up the left side of her neck but the same design was also on her left hand, making me wonder how connected they were. I called her Flame because I felt that asking was the best way to get my head torn off.

We were in the bedroom of one of the tower apartments, two stories below the penthouse, when Magdalena finally spoke.

"Well?" she inquired. I put on my best game face, slapped some asbestos on the Hindenburg and got ready inside and out to perform.

I had my jacket on the back of the chair and the bow tie unraveled in my hands when she held up a hand.

"No, I want the face," she insisted. Sensing a lack of understanding, she clarified. "The face you gave to that woman this morning."

"Oh," I mused then, "That's not going to happen."

"Why not? You walked off the elevator willing, didn't you? You didn't protest when I paid for you, did you? So why can't you uphold your side of the bargain, Mr. Jensen," she studied me angrily.

"You haven't earned it," I shot back. "Hell, you weren't even supposed to see that. It was a private moment between me and someone I hold honest affection for. I have to accept that the image was stolen from me but I don't have to like it and I certainly don't need to pay the thief for the pleasure of them stealing it from me."

The two female 'friends' had appeared at the door. Perhaps I had been ranting a little too loudly.

"What do you mean 'I haven't earned it'?" she questioned.

"God, that you are even asking that," I shook my head. "You are a businesswoman," I tried a different approach.

"There were over thirty people upstairs who were more than happy to spend the night with you, if not the whole damn weekend, ready, able and most likely, willing. Yet you chose to invest in a man clearly miserable with the whole situation, who has shown no carnal, emotional, or social interest in you," I explained.

"Now you claim to be unhappy with what you paid for?" I countered. "You didn't pay for the guy in that video. You couldn't afford him. No, you paid for the poor bub who couldn't find a way out of appearing tonight, who had to leave that woman and the warmth of her body next to mine, to come here to be with a woman I neither know or care to know."

"The man you claim to want is back there with her still. She's holding him safe until I return and I get to be him once more," I glared. Magdalena stared at me with very cold, almost lifeless eyes.

"Want me to beat him up some, Little M?" Flame asked Maggy.

Magdalena weighed her response as Flame closed in. I imagined she expected me to do something; defend myself, run, throw something, beg forgiveness, something. I stood there. The physical options were pointless and I'd be begging as soon as my pain threshold was breeched.

In a perverse way, seeing how much more pain I could take this time was all I had to look forward to. There was no winning, or showing them how tough I was. I wasn't that kind of man and if there were any like that anymore, they were keeping their heads down.

"Not the face or hands," Magdalena instructed and the pain began.

Physical violence against men was a rather rare thing. Sure, I had been bullied by girls in middle school. Girls are bigger and stronger at that age plus they are working out their hormonal shift where boys are concerned. Not only do teachers look out for you, but boys tend to form cliques covering multiple age groups.

Since we were so few, it was only natural that boys would create our own little social order. It wasn't anything sinister or subversive. It was our experience with being 'manly' and 'macho.’ We could roughhouse, talk about girls, sports and do stupid guy shit that drove our mothers nuts when they found out.

I had no idea how many men Flame had beaten up in her career. Maybe men and women are identical in the weak points in our bodies. Flame seemed to know them all. To be somewhat fair to her, I forgot to scream until after all the air had escaped my lungs. I was also somewhat obsessed with the craziness of it all.

Who beats up a guy for refusing to have sex with them, or has some flunky do it for them? I had to wonder if I walked into situations like this, was this my fault? Was there something about me that attracted the worst kind of women?

"That's enough," Magdalena said. I was curled up on the floor crying.

"Wimp," Flame laughed at me. It took me half a minute to regain my breath then I began laughing. For a second I believe they thought they'd broken me, mentally. Too late for that.

"What's so funny Israel?" Maggy asked.

"All you bitches are getting exactly what you deserve," I laughed through gasps of pain.

Flame came back with a kick to my shin but I couldn't stop chortling.

"Wait. What do you mean?" Magdalena pressed.

"Oh, just let Flame get back at me," I wheezed. "Someone might as well enjoy themselves and it doesn't look like it will be you or me."

"Wow," Magdalena chuckled, "you would rather take a beating than have sex with me? Damn, I suddenly feel ugly. Israel, why are you being so mean to me?"

"I'll perform sexually," I winced, "but I'm not giving you my spirit."

"I'll take the one now then we'll see about the other," Magdalena smiled.

I didn't question the audience, or her desire to have 'normal' sex at that time. I gave it what I had left, after a serious beating. The bruises and welts further depleted my strength. I loathed these women, yet I had the sensation she was disappointed, as if my techniques weren't enough, or worse, bored her. Afterwards, the culminated stress, beating and sex had worn me down to the last of my reserves.

"Well," Magdalena sat up and pulled her knees to her chest.

"It doesn't take a psychic to realize you aren't happy," I acknowledged to her.

"You could have done better," she looked at me. "I know you could have done better," she held up her hand to stop me from talking, "and I'm used to getting the maximum effort from the people around me."

"You are not on the short, very short list of women whose opinions and expectations mean crap to me, Magdalena," I replied. "I'm going to go home and forget all about this night, your perceived failings of me, my efforts and the beat-down Bad Ass Princess Barbie gave me. I am never coming back to one of these things. The next time that swine Isobel asks, I'm hitchhiking to Alaska."

Apparently Flame didn't appreciate my 'Bad Ass Princess Barbie' comment but as I pointed out earlier, I was on my last reserves and those were really nothing more than fumes.

"Were you not breast fed as an infant?" I regarded Flame as she came at me on the bed. "Or did you choke out your mother the first time she tried to burp you?"

Flame was on me in a blink of an eye, pinning me down by the throat while hauling off to punch me.

"Not the face," Maggy reminded her. I started giggling.

"Is he mental?" Flame addressed Magdalena. She looked at me for some answer.

"It is so fucking ironic," I choked. "All this power and you refuse to save yourselves. Fucking hilarious. Let loose Flame. Do the world a favor, go out and punch every man you come across." If stress made men less fertile and these women were our shepherds, it was better for all if we died out as a species. Perhaps it wasn't all that funny, but I was past caring.

I received two powerful punches to the ribs. I had to wonder if I was becoming a masochist or if ten thousand generations of males refused to go howling into that Final Night without some savage, simple-minded stab at our enemies, which probably meant I had lost my steady decline into insanity. I kept laughing though it really hurt laugh.

"We got you bitch," I rasped gleefully.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Dickweed?" Flame spat.

"That daycare center," I snickered. "If we could get to those kids, we can get to any of you. You aren't safe."

"What?" Magdalena intervened. "What are you talking about?"

"We are dying, you stupid cunts. Men have started figuring it out too," I humored them. "When is the next man, or group of men, going to figure it out and decide to come at any of you with a knife, or a car, or a truckload of toxic chemicals?"

"You lose Flame because fear only works if there is hope. You are tearing the hope away from us so all that is left for us is hopelessness and rage," I continued. "The hopeless ones will take care of themselves, but the ragers,"

"You fight like babies," Flame ridiculed me but at least she'd stopped hitting me.

"Have fun dodging shrapnel," I coughed. I probably needed to see a doctor. "Those three in Denver blew themselves up. A car bomb isn't that much harder and I'm sure some poor, over-worked and underpaid girl working at a chemical depot isn't going to turn down a little sex for a favor or two." I was getting tired of repeating that I was at the top of my class. No one cared.

Flame looked up from where she had me pinned, to Maggy.

"This is one sick puppy," Maggy snorted in amusement. "I like him."

So Bethany’s mom is amused. I have a psycho fan, and here I had thought this night would be a total waste.

"Interesting Israel; I think it is time to take you home," Magdalena said.

I had confessed to genocidal thoughts toward the female gender by means of high explosive terror weapons and her response was to send me home,

"Can I get dressed first?" I requested as Flame dismounted my prone form.

"Of course," Magdalena grinned suspiciously. "We are not animals after all."

Getting my clothes on went normally if you considered dressing with three sets of female eyes studying you as you get dressed normal. We took the front elevator down to the first sub-basement where a limousine was waiting.

"Where is my ride?" I inquired without expecting an answer I would like.

"I'll drive you home," Magdalena informed me.

"Can I at least call somebody who might miss me?" I desperately tried to sound more flippant than terrified.

"Do you have a phone?" she reposed.

"No, I'd have to borrow one," I sighed. Maggy looked over at Flame.

"It's 'boxed'

Vanishing Manhood: Part 4

Tenth Amendment — Thu, 18 Jun 2026 03:00:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 4

Becoming a seducer, dabbling with love, then gigolo duties.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Would you rather take shelter under a prison roof or stand outdoors in the uncertain storm?

"That's the best part about living here," Kuiko grinned. "We'll be patient."

That fairy tale collided with Fatima, Carrie and Ambrosia showing up at my door while Kuiko was back at her place changing and gathering a few things for a group effort at dinner. I almost triggered the 'unlock' without looking, almost. Being afraid for so long had its benefits. I seriously thought about not answering.

It was still too bright outside for my interior lights to come on. It wasn't like I had any means of transportation to suggest I was in the area.

"Hello, Ladies," I gulped over the intercom. "I'm a bit busy right now. What's up?"

"Hey Israel, can we come in? You weren't at the station this morning, or on the return trip, so we wanted to make sure you hadn't vanished," Fatima spoke up.

I was wondering what was the best way to say 'I'd rather have my bones ground to dust than open the door' when the dilemma was solved for me. A furious Angel came storming up the stairs and into the scope of my door's security screen.

"Get the fuck out of my way," she snarled at the three then she pounded on the door with her fist.

"Open the God damn door, you Idiot," she yelled at me or the door. Oh, I knew that wasn't a good sign. I barely noted a second woman coming up behind Angel appearing to be terribly concerned.

"Who the hell are you?" Ambrosia snapped at Angel.

"Metropolitan Police," the second woman waved her badge around. "Please stand back."

"Israel!" Angel was almost frothing at the mouth. I opened the door against my better judgment and all common sense. Angel stomped her way into my apartment, and right past me toward the bedroom.

I didn't think she wanted sex. She was burning off some serious frustration, my place was small and the greatest stretch of walkway ran from the front door into my bedroom. The second woman came in at a more cautious pace.

"Good-bye ladies," she said to the three at the door. "Remember, if you are out here when we get back, I'll arrest you for loitering."

"Detective Seneca Poole," she introduced herself but didn't offer to shake or look even marginally pleased to see me. Angel came tearing past us, turned, snarled at me, then about faced and headed back. "I don't know what you did but I've never seen her so pissed in the three years we've been partnered."

That brought Angel back around, still horribly frightening and unhappy.

"You want to know what he did?" Angel seethed. "You want to know? This bastard agreed to go to Isobel Diaz's party tomorrow night!" I didn't understand that complaint because she had known about that for hours. Seneca looked my way, clearly as confused as me.

"You thought I wouldn't find out?" Angel stabbed me in the chest with her forefinger. "Do you think I'm stupid? Did you forget I'm a God-damn detective?" I was stumbling back and starting to shiver. "Argh!" she screamed, barely holding herself back.

"Okay, you've scared the fuck out of him," Seneca griped. "Why don't you finally tell me what is going on?"

"I'm under investigation," Angel kept glaring at me. "I'm under investigation for having an inappropriate liaison with a material male witness."

"Did this asshole turn you in?" Seneca scanned from me to Angel.

"No," Angel spat at me. "He buckled under to Isobel Diaz so they would drop the investigation against me, you moron." I was the moron in question.

"How did you find out?" I muttered. I didn't want to have this conversation because I couldn't make sense of any part of what I'd done. I certainly couldn't explain it.

"Somerset told me," Angel was slowly cooling down. "She laughed at me as she told my how you had folded up like a good little boy after the threat."

"Wait," Seneca stammered. "He stood up for you?" I took from that question that Detective Seneca Poole had a rather low opinion of me, if not all males. That I would leave myself vulnerable for Angel was clearly an impossibility in her mind.

"Yes he did, Seneca," Angel glared at me.

"Fuck you, Israel. I can take care of myself, a hell of a lot better than you can," she sizzled. "You, you, you didn't have to do that."

"The Mayor threatened me, Angel. What was I going to do?" I sighed.

"For starters, you don't make decisions for me," she snarled.

"Yet, it is okay for you to make decisions for me?" I pointed out.

"Yes, because you are a 21 year old fresh out of college who has been in the city six days," Angel snorted in frustration. "I am thirty, I have three years in as a patrolwoman and five as a detective and this city is and always has been my home. I think I know what's going on here better than you do."

When she put it like that, she was almost totally right. If you get discriminated against for so long, you start assuming you will always be discriminated against. Angel had just slapped me upside my sensibilities with a logical, if passionate, argument. The only thing was, she was 'almost' right.

"If you think Isobel Diaz won't squash you like a bug, you are so mistaken," I addressed Angel. "She's not your garden variety misanthrope. She's a monster, she's evil and with one phone call, she had you under a federal investigation."

"That's not important," Angel snapped back.

"The mental state you are going to be in Sunday morning is," Angel pointed out.

"Angel, we've been down this road before, top of my class, remember?" I said.

"You sure are a mouthy bastard," Seneca mocked me but then, "Top of your class? What community college did you go to?"

"Seneca, he's not mouthy, he's opinionated," Angel sniped, at me. I noted Kuiko approach the door and activated the lock for her. She strolled on in.

"Hey everybody. Hey stranger," Kuiko waved. She has a small sack of something.

"Whoever you are, this is a police matter," Seneca commanded. "Beat it."

"I'm his friend," Kuiko bristled. "Who the hell are you?"

"She's my partner," Angel informed her. "This is Kuiko. I'll explain later."

"A cop? Whoops, sorry about the whole 'who the hell' thing," Kuiko gulped.

"Back to the matter at hand," I grumbled.

"Detective Poole, I went to Bowden. I was the first male Valedictorian in sixty years. Blow it out your ass, Bitch," I glared at her. There I was, busting my head pointlessly against a wall again for no reason I could accept.

"Bowden? Bowden is a real college," Seneca queried.

I shouldn't have been surprised or angry. Even before the Plague, more women were seeking higher education than men. The Plague was a scholastic killing field for male education. Not only did most of our intellectual elite die, in the chaos after the dying began, it made more sense to admit women over men since odds were that most of your guys would be in a grave by graduation.

After the tenth year, even after the mass die-offs stopped, society took few chances. A whole generation of men went under-educated out of fear they would perish as well. Men had been struggling up the educational ladder ever since, but we were massively under-represented in most professional callings, things like lawyers, engineers and doctors.

Two consequences of being under-educated were our lack of political awareness and the disparity of economic power. We were paid less on average than women and we owned less of the economy than our population would have warranted. This, in turn, reinforced in men that the best way to get ahead financially was to marry well.

This worked out fine if you were a woman in the top 10%; not so much if you were in the bottom 90%. A man graduating well and trying to make his own way in the world didn't fit into that mold and ours wasn't a culture that put a high premium on male independence.

"Yes, it is. I read, studied and made really good grades," I reasoned.

"When I graduated, they gave me a pat on the head, a dog biscuit and a diploma," I added sarcastically. "In retrospect, I should have treasured the pat on the head and kept the dog biscuit for emergency rations because it turns out my diploma isn't fit to wipe my ass."

"Wow, you're bitter," Seneca noted.

"Bitter?" I countered. "Give me your security code. I'm going to go to your house, stomp around the place like an elephant, raid your refrigerator, and leave a used glass and plate on the counter so you wonder what the fuck happened to your sanctuary while you were out."

"Let me rephrase; you are bitter and angry," Seneca corrected herself.

"And this is going to be the wing-nut that is going to Isobel Diaz's party," Angel groaned.

"Oh, I see the difficulty," Seneca nodded. "You are never going to see him again. That could be a problem considering your current assignment."

"What! We are going to lose him?" Kuiko squawked. "No way, no how!"

"Kuiko, do you like me?" I muttered.

"Yes, but,” she got out before I held up my hand.

"Not showing up for the party isn't an option," I explained. "I told the Mayor I would go. I have to work in that building, with those people. I'm vulnerable. Going or not going won't change that, but I have to try."

"God, I want to beat you into the hospital," Angel barked. I didn't want to believe she meant that but that didn't stop me from shivering, my eyes opening wide and stumbling back. Even as the last words tumbled out of her mouth, Angel sensed her mistake. "I'm sorry, Israel," she pleaded. "I just, I'm worried about you and I'm not used to feeling so powerless."

"I need to go to my room," I whispered, turned and fled.

"Oh shit," Angel sighed behind me. A few minutes later, she knocked on my door. "I'm sorry, Israel. I truly am. I have to go back to work now, but, do you want me to come here when I get off?"

I had been thinking about that. I kept trying to convince myself that she hadn't meant that threat of physical violence. Acting combatively was her way of dealing with stress. I found myself trapped between my past mistakes and my dim hope for the future.

"I'd like that," I responded to the voice beyond the door.

(Saturday)

Three things were obvious to me as I woke up. Detective Angel Kristi was a light sleeper. There was no worry about me waking her and her accidently lashing out, I'd done that for years. Angel was wearing a dark pink panty or bra combo. Last night she had muttered an excuse about being backed up on laundry. I chose to believe her.

Finally, I had to do something about our relationship, if that is what we had. Her outburst yesterday had scared the crap out of me, but it had gripped her in an emotional paralysis. Despair had abandoned me for greener pastures. I'd go to the party, take drugs and become lost in the sexuality. I would recover, hate myself a little bit more and go back to work.

A few days later, maybe a week, two if I was lucky, I'd repeat the process. I would either fail spectacularly and Isobel would ring out what little happiness existed in my life or someone I didn't know yet would collect me and become the most important thing in my life. As long as I kept performing up to a certain level, I'd be fine but every time they would become a little less human in my eyes and I'd try a little less hard.

Eventually I would fail and be cast out. It wouldn't matter. Israel Jensen would have been washed away with all the other detritus of our society. I'd become a contributor, a sperm donor with a desk, a paycheck and a punch card for my social calendar. I wasn't there yet, so I had to keep struggling to find a way out.

In a strange way, I'd invested so much of my week in resisting, it was more logical to keep at it than to turn back now. I certainly wasn't going to lose any slower if I backed down at this juncture.

"Good morning," I greeted Angel as I rolled onto my side, facing her.

She was on her stomach, arms crossed over her head, under her pillow. Her grey eyes were in their normal, soul-piercing gaze.

"Hello, Israel," she responded. We remained silent for a few seconds.

"I'm going to kiss you," I told her. If I had asked, that would have passed the decision from me to her. I knew what I wanted. I doubted she could come to grips with her desires.

"Is that really a good idea?" she inquired.

"I don't know, but I know I'm going to kiss you if you stay," I said.

"Israel," she started to protest. I leaned in to kiss her. Angel tilted her head up so our lips could meet. I swept past her lips, brushed her hair to her far shoulder then kissed her behind her right ear.

"Israel?" she questioned. I ignored her, instead kissing to the base of her ear then up to the top. I kept her hair pushed back with gentle strokes of my hand. "Israel?" she tried again, more softly this time. When that didn't work, she lowered her head back to the pillow and started to relax. After reaching the top of the ear-base, I kissed the top of her ear rim.

I carefully made my way down to the earlobe, which I sucked on and bit.

"Israel?" she murmured. I imagined that she felt in her role as guardian, she had to offer some sort of resistance. I moved my lips to her jawline. She tried to kiss me again, but I went in the other direction to the back of her neck.

Her bra was unhooked before she even knew what was going on. Angel bit back a comment, another cautionary note. She knew we were past that now. I was dedicated to one course of action and she was going to make her last stand right before the moment of copulation. My secret weapon was timing, or more accurately, the fact that I was drawing out this seduction.

For three years I'd starved myself, devoting my barren sex life to the women's pleasure then my own quick release. I didn't allow myself to enjoy the act of intercourse with the freedom I had enjoyed with Bethany. On weekends we would have sex for hours. Not actual penetration, but the art of touching, smelling and tasting your lover the way sex was meant to be, unrushed and done with total devotion to your partner.

After the sorority I couldn't hold off the demons long enough. Besides, the desire had evaporated in me. I didn't want to remember anything about the women I was with so getting to know them was a passionate dead end. I did the best I could for my own sake, because I knew I could and it was a gift that I could give up, but they couldn't take that away.

By the time I reached for her panties, Angel was sweating extensively. It had little to do with the room temperature. I had ran my hands over every inch of her from the top of her head, all along her back and sides. I'd rolled her a quarter way over on each side so that I would be less contorted as I concentrated on her scent and taste.

I worked her underwear down. She pushed up with her knees until I reached there, then with her toes until I got the clothing all the way down. Angel started to roll over but I placed a hand with slight pressure down on her hip to keep her in place. I kissed her on the tailbone, migrated to each cheek while I started to caress her folds from behind.

"Israel, I'm close," Angel warned me with quickening breath.

"Go with it," I cooed. "This is about you. We don't have anywhere to be until noon."

"Oh, oh, okay," she moaned. Two minutes later she hit her euphoria. My lips weren't even down to the back of her knees yet.

It was nearly midday when Roni rang the doorbell. I buzzed her in. Angel was coming out of the bathroom, dressed in pool attire and using a towel to dry her hair. I was coming out of the bedroom, a towel still around my waist. I was on my way to my dryer for my shorts. I normally don't wear any so I had to wash the 'storage musk' out of them.

"Hey you two," Roni called out. "Angel," she hesitated, "your hair is wet."

"Yes," Angel grumbled.

"And Israel has a towel around his waist and his hair is damp too," Roni grinned wickedly.

"That would be because we took a shower," Angel glared.

"Screw this," Roni chuckled. "Israel, get over here." I was clearly uncomfortable. "Please," Roni added. Reluctantly I stepped her way and presented my wrist.

"Hold on," Angel growled. She stomped back to the bedroom, retrieved her phone and scanned my wrist once more. "Don't make me punch your lights out," she challenged Roni.

Roni scanned me then took a step back.

"Oh, Fucking, God!" she exclaimed. I was pretty sure Angel was about to deck her.

"Don't make a big deal about it," Angel threatened Roni.

"Big Deal?" Roni gasped. "I'm stunned you can still walk."

"I'm going to get dressed," I muttered. I didn't want to hear that conversation. I didn't want to be any part of it. I had done what I had done and I wasn't going to be ashamed about it, I promised myself that. I gathered up my clothes, retreated to my bedroom and quickly got dressed. The two ladies had resolved something by the time I came out.

"You look nice, Israel," Roni tried not to grin too broadly. I hadn't worn these clothes in three years. I was uncertain why I had kept them. It was a tribute to the North American Federation's physical regimen policies that I could fit into them as if I'd purchased them yesterday.

"Bethany Fremont bought them for me," I replied. I would have thought that would be a conversation killer.

These were nice clothes. There was no way I could have afforded them on my own. Without a scholarship I couldn't have swung the tuition at a college as nice as Bowden.

"Why didn't you get rid of them?" Angel asked.

"I put all her stuff in boxes, I put the boxes in my closet and I didn't look at them for three years," I informed her.

"I tried to act like they weren't even there. I couldn't touch them. The closest they came to the dumpster was when I was loading my rental for the drive here," I related. "I thought that time of my life was behind me and I needed the clothes, so I kept them. Now, after confessing all this, I feel like a total retard."

"Don't," Angel insisted. "You have to work with her for now so keeping your clothes doesn't matter."

"Besides, she didn't wear those clothes," Roni added. "They should remind you of you, not of her. We have to get to the party. Olga is bringing Jean Paul and if he's the sole guy there, she's going to be pissed."

"Olga?" I queried. If a woman could get pissed with you, a man need to know what she could bring to bear.

"Public Utilities Department," Angel explained. Power, sewer, communications, oh joy. Since she lived in this complex, she most likely worked in the field as opposed to an office.

The trip to the complex's pool set my nerves on edge. At the office, I could pretend to hide in my cubicle. At press conferences, I had my college training to keep my fears in check. On the metro, I could create a veil around myself to ignore all but the most intrusive female. Here, I was going to have to interact with women coming at me f

Vanishing Manhood: Part 3

Tenth Amendment — Wed, 17 Jun 2026 02:58:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 3

A date with a devil, unloading on the press, and facing down interrogators?

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

The waitress came, took our orders then left. I steered the conversation toward work, our co-workers and the Mayor. Bethany didn't have much interest in policy. Politics was her expertise, who was who and who she knew. Only when dessert came around did she drop a hint about the party I had been invited to.

"I hear you have your first secret party coming up," she teased.

"Not if I can help it," I answered.

"What do you mean, 'not if you can help it'?" Bethany stared at me with no comprehension. "Why aren't you going?"

'None of your damned business', 'I'd rather floss with razor-wire', or 'I'm going to cuddle up with a good book in a non-extradition country' all worked for me. I could scream out my rage over having her fucked-up friends raising my sons to be slaves and my daughters to be as deviant and uncaring as their mothers. None of those would work.

"We are going deep sea diving," I fabricated. "Heading out Friday night and won't be back until late Sunday."

"Ah, ah, really?" Bethany blinked. "I didn't know you liked to do that. Hell, I wasn't sure they let men do that anymore. Isn't it dangerous?"

"It is no more dangerous than going out on a date with you," I smiled wanly. Sadly, Bethany wasn't a total idiot and I should have picked a better lie. She pulled out her phone and began doing some online research. Me, I went to the bathroom, then through the kitchen and out the back door. I flagged down the first cab I saw and was gone two minutes when the phone rang.

"Israel, where are you?" Bethany sounded pissed.

"I couldn't control my emotions around you and I don't want to screw things up like last time, so I left. Sorry," I murmured.

"Damn it," she sounded petulant, "I was really hoping to get some tonight."

Uh-uh, no way. Had Bethany tried to drag me anywhere for sex, it would have been a murder or suicide and that would have still counted as a victory for her.

"Maybe next week?" I put her off.

"What about tomorrow night?" she countered.

"Wha as, at, I'm, you are, ing up. I'm, into, tunnel, bye," and I hung up. The cabby looked over her shoulder and smirked at me but at least didn't give me shit about the fact we were nowhere near a tunnel. I had gone out with Bethany and made it through dessert, so had accomplished the mission Francesca had laid out for me, in my mind anyway.

To be safe, I cut off my phone. I paid for the taxi with money I couldn't afford to spend. My instinct was to race into my complex, up the stairs and get inside my condo as quickly as possible. Then it dawned on me; could being murdered or kidnapped be that much worse than the life I was currently living? I wondered how many of the two thousand missing guys felt the same way.

After getting cleaned up and dressed for bed, I found myself laying on the sofa, bat on my chest and staring at the ceiling. Isobel Diaz was going to crucify me, that was pretty much a given. If not, I'd have to date Bethany again, eventually. Death really was preferable because they'd already bludgeoned me as a person, stolen my children and gotten away with it.

Me ending up with Bethany as an attachment would be the removal of my only weapon, denial. She'd pleased her sorority friends but lost me in the process, or so I had told myself. Now it looked like she'd still end up possessing me anyway. How was that worse than what Isobel had in store when she finally got her hooks in?

To dwell solely on my harsh reality was no way to nurture the desire to fight on. I had to think about Angel, Kuiko, Roni and perhaps Francesca. They didn't get me. How could they? They were trying, though, and that put them head and shoulders above most womankind. I severely doubted they would turn down an offer of sex, but they weren't making it the focus of our relationships either. That had to count for something.

I was still staring off into space when Angel rang the doorbell. The first thing to occur to me was that it wasn't past midnight yet.

"Come in," I told her. She glided into my place, scanned the area then looked me over.

"You okay?" she inquired.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I answered.

"Bethany Fremont has been squawking into the ear of anyone who will listen that you got into a cab but didn't make it home and that you have been out of communication since leaving the restaurant," Detective Angel Kristi explained.

"That's none of her damned business," I groused.

"Take into account that Miss Fremont is connected and 28 men have disappeared recently," Angel reminded me. "Give her a damn call."

"No," I muttered. "Why are you here anyway? Isn't this off your normal beat?"

"For some reason Patrol thinks you are a pain in the ass and a trouble-maker, so I volunteered to make this problem go away," she told me. "Did the date go that poorly?"

"She wanted to have sex. She told me I was the best sex she'd ever had. Then she told me about the children I had with her sorority sisters, children under the care of some of the worst women I've ever met," I sighed.

"Beyond ducking out the rear before she could trick me back to her place for a fuck session, it went stunningly," I concluded. She sat down on the arm of the sofa by my feet.

"How do you feel about that?" Kristi inquired. I looked at her as if she was delusional.

"Like hell I'm telling you," I snapped. "You are still a cop first, a woman second and a friend a very distant third."

"Israel, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on," she grumbled. Arguing was pointless anyway.

"They have my daughters. They are going to raise them to be the same kind of horrors they are. God knows what they will do to my sons," I growled.

"You want to know how I felt? I desperately resisted the impulse to put my fork into Bethany's eye socket and scoop out her brains. Do I get to go to jail now?" I glared at her.

"No, I, wait, did you say sons?" she stammered. Oh fucking hell. I was far more fatigued than I thought. If I didn't say anything, she'd just go looking.

"Yes, I have three sons. I also have thirteen daughters, if that matters," I groaned. "It does to me."

"God, how many women did you knock up?" Angel gasped.

"Eighteen of the forty-one. They were on a fertility drug regimen," I explained. Angel quickly did the math and jumped up.

"We need to,” she suddenly stopped. She'd done the same mental calculations I had in about .03 seconds. "We need to tell someone," she whispered.

"That doesn't work out so well for me," I pointed out.

"Israel, this is important. We can't just sit on this knowledge," Kristi insisted. "Don't you want to help?"

"Not really," I confessed.

"God damn it!" she leapt to her feet. "You can't hold onto this poison forever."

"It is not poison, Detective Kristi. You see me helping the Human Race limp along a few more decades," I related. "I see passing on my experiences to my sons and their sons."

"This isn't going to make women change their perceptions or attitudes towards men," I added.

"If we do nothing, women will never have the chance to change," Kristi countered.

"Do you deserve another few decades?" I inquired.

"Yes, we are human beings and we deserve the chance to fight off extinction," Angel persisted.

"It is not really up to me anymore anyway," I shrugged. "You know now and forty-one sorority girls have known for over a year. Certainly people in their families know, maybe some doctors as well." I figured nine months for the children to be born and then twelve more months before the abnormal number of males surviving was noted.

"That's right," I chuckled ruefully, "Bethany and her clique knew this way before I did and since I'm not in some lab somewhere, I have to assume they aren't rushing to save the Human Race either."

"That doesn't mean we should make the same poor choices they have," Kristi stated.

"They aren't going to help you, Detective Kristi," I regarded her. "You live on the wrong side of the social dividing line. Hell, Bethany has already told me that you aren't good looking enough, and too old, for me to date. The people you want me to save have already written you off genetically speaking."

"I'm not doing it for them, but for my colleagues on the force and the girls in this complex," Kristi kept on coming. "Don't they deserve a chance?"

"It is too late for them," I responded. "It will take them a few years to figure out if I'm anything special and what makes me so, if I am. Then it is seventeen more years before the male children I help become available."

"That means the youngest woman here will be thirty-six or thirty-seven. There will be many younger girls out there who have priority over them," I did the math. "You and I aren't going to save anyone we know."

"No matter what, we have to try," she insisted.

"Go ahead," I replied in a resigned voice. "You know we'll never see each other again if you do. You are not naïve enough to think they'll ever let me come back."

"Fuck you," Kristi snapped. She paced back and forth. "Fuck you," she repeated violently then stormed out of my condo, slamming the door. I fell asleep where I was.

(Thursday)

Steve threw himself in front of the metro.

He was behaving normally, mumbled to a few women, then gave me a slight wave and stepped off into the void and whatever afterlife awaited suicides. The ladies were screaming, crying and yelling. They were aghast and surprised. They couldn't understand why he did it and a few insisted he stumbled by accident.

One girl said they had sex the night before and had a great time. He had seemed happy. I knew exactly why he was happy and it had little to do with the sex. The guy missed his dead wife and had finally resolved after having intercourse with a total stranger that he would never recapture the magic on this side of existence.

So he had exercised what little free will he had left and given his tormentors a final 'fuck you.’ I hoped there was a Heaven and he found his wife waiting for him there. The triple downside of all this was that we were all going to be late for work, I was now the only male in a two block radius and the women were crowding in on me.

A few were clearly worried that I might become inspired to join Steve by ending my life. I wasn't sure how that would work, the metro had already stopped and wasn't going anywhere until the paramedics removed Steve's body. Some wanted to be comforted. A person had died and they were suitably shaken by the event.

Of course, there were always the ones who found this to be an opportunity to grope me yet again. Ambrosia, Fatima and Carrie appeared to have formed a coterie. I would have been more scared, but I'd seen this behavior before. Girls could readily accept a three (or four)-way and getting male enhancement drugs was insanely easy.

The precautions were the same. Don't take food or drink from anyone (a man could spike an offering just as well as woman), keep to public places and don't let them into your house, or go to their house, ever. As it was, we bought some drinks from vending machines and waited around for the police to process us.

Detective Somerset Trainer looked both physically tired and happy to see me. Not happy as in 'hey, how are you doing' but happy as in 'I'm going to take great joy in crushing your nuts', figuratively speaking. My testicles were far too valuable to be ground into putty, but she could dream. She had a patrolwoman retrieve me from my protective cordon of females.

"Mr. Jensen," Somerset greeted me intensely.

"Is this the cry-baby?" her partner chimed in.

"What, is your tampon rammed in too tightly?" I blurted out. What the fuck was I saying? And the area around us got quiet too.

"Detective Gayle Seger," the woman extended her hand. I looked down at her hand then up at her face once more. I didn't shake the offered hand because I didn't feel like having my bones ground together. I couldn't win a brutal handshake contest with a cop. If I prevailed, I had assaulted her and if I lost and complained, I wouldn't be taken seriously.

"You talk a lot," Gayle commented.

"I'd be quiet if you'd let me," I bantered. "Hell, I'd never talk to a cop again if you would let me."

"We want you to talk. We'd really like it if you made sense from time to time as well," Somerset stated.

"In our experience, bravado normally indicates the perpetrator is hiding something," Gayle continued. "Are you hiding something, Mr. Jensen?"

"Clearly not my dislike for you and your ilk," I glared back. "Are you here to solve the mystery of what happened to Steve this morning or did you come all this way to chap my ass?"

Somerset looked to Gayle, who shrugged. They would have a go at me later today no matter what.

"What happened to Steve?" Somerset inquired. I was glad I didn't blurt out 'he escaped.’

"He jumped in front of the metro," I told them.

"Are you sure he fell deliberately?" Somerset continued.

"Absolutely. He even waved good-bye to me before he did it," I tried not to smile.

"Why didn't you stop him?" Gayle interrupted.

"I don't normally tackle people who wave at me," I stated deadpan.

"Wasn't it obvious to you what he was going to do?" Somerset persisted.

"No," I looked at her as if she was an idiot. "The metro was pulling up. Steve rode the first car while I rode the third. I assumed he was preparing to board like every other passenger and like he had done the three previous days I'd seen him. We never talked."

"I thought you men stuck together?" Det. Trainer queried.

"Drugs had rendered Steve a zombie," I reminded them. "He wasn't defending anyone. He couldn't even defend himself."

"Who would he have to defend himself from?" Somerset prodded me.

I lowered my head and tried not to cry at the blatant stupidity of that question. It was meant to annoy me and we all knew it. They were sex crimes after all. They had no excuse for ignoring that segment of male reality that include being groped in public.

"You are the detectives, detect," I replied. "As I said, we never talked."

"Yet you felt entitled to say he couldn't defend himself," Somerset recounted.

"You have a gun. You can defend yourself," I pointed out. "He was a fifty-five year old man on so many drugs he could barely stand up with no obvious weapons, thus my observation was that he couldn't defend himself. Maybe if your system hadn't given him so many drugs we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I didn't know you were an expert on our drug policies," Somerset sneered. That was stupid of her.

"You are right," I sneered right back. In a very loud voice I added, "Because it has been four years since I've been on your drug regimen after I was raped by a police officer."

I was giving into my rage after all these years and it felt liberating. It was also death by slow suicide and I knew it.

"Keep your voice down," Det. Seger growled.

"How about I do your job for you?" I stared. "Steve committed suicide. No one was close to him when he jumped. He was smiling and that should be attributed to him slowly lowering his drug doses so as to not set off his bracelet's sweat sensors. His suicide note will be in an empty box in the freezer."

"How do you know any of that?" Somerset regarded me.

"I saw his face as he jumped. No one was closer than two meters. Having been on the drugs, I know how hard it is to focus on a full dose, and if I wrote a note, that's what I'd do because you never know if some police swine is hijacking your security system," I ticked my points.

"That is very paranoid of you and sounds like you've contemplated ending your own life," Gayle smiled as if she'd tricked me.

"My suicidal thoughts are in my therapy notes from when I was sixteen. Don't give me any crap about confidentiality. I know you've already accessed them," I shrugged.

"The law states that the appropriate law enforcement agency is authorized to spot check any person under a government controlled drug regimen, including visual surveillance," I quoted from the Gender Inequality Act. "That means you can and do peek in from time to time. To write a suicide note and not get caught, you write it inside a box."

"You put it in the freezer so that someone will read it. An empty box in a freezer is weird after all," I reasoned.

"Wow, Summer," Gayle chuckled. "We should give Mr. Jensen all our cases. He's a freaking wizard. The rest of us can go home."

"I agree," I bit back. "I'd make a great cop except for the fact that I'm not greedy, venal, corrupt and or incompetent. I also have a cock, but not a gun. If I had a gun, I'd be tempted to make you pay for your blind arrogance and gleeful viciousness." I could tell the only thing standing between me and an epic case of police brutality was the crowd of over one hundred female commuters bearing witness to every word being said.

"There won't always be a crowd around you," Gayle muttered.

"Let's go then," I shrugged. "I'm tired of being afraid of you and your breed. Get it over with."

"I'll take care of this Gayle," Somerset ordered. "I'll take Mr. Jensen out of here. Make sure the investigative unit assigned to Mr. Rosenberg's (Steve's) house checks the freezer for an empty box."

"Are you sure you don't need a hand?" Detective Seger asked.

"You wrap things up here and I'll meet you at the station," Somerset replied. "Come with me, Mr. Courageous." I had to admit that when we stepped out into the sunlight, I had to repress the impulse to run for it yet again. Where would I go?

"Get in front," she directed me as I went for the passenger rear door. That would put me in easy reach, not something I was looking forward to. I got in, buckled up and stared straight ahead as Detective Trainer pulled out into traffic.

"You are not so mouthy now," she noted.

"Did you ever hold the illusion that you were a good person?" I responded.

"It's going to be fun breaking you," she smiled at me. Oh shit. By my facial expression, she knew that I got the veiled reference to Isobel Diaz, the Mayor's Chief of Staff. Yesterday afternoon she had promised to 'break me' too. "Did you really think you would get away with your 'illusions'?" Somerset laughed.

"Not really," I muttered after a moment. She huffed in amusement.

"Why did you do it, mouth off?" she asked after a minute. "Not that it really matters. Once she set her sights on you, you were pretty much hers."

"It felt good," I answered with a rekindled passion. "I felt free. You wouldn't understand."

"What a whiny little bastard," she snorted. "Right, life is so tough for you

Vanishing Manhood: Part 2

Tenth Amendment — Tue, 16 Jun 2026 02:47:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 2

In a world controlled by women, Israel Jensen starts to come apart.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"Do you get off fucking with my head?" she grumbled.

"You feel free lying to me," I said. "Why should I treat you any differently?"

"I'm a, You don't care that I'm a cop; that I am trying to keep you safe?" she replied.

"I have no respect for your profession," I pointed out, "or faith in your ability to keep me safe. That is the truth."

She fidgeted around the door, first reaching for the door knob then stopping and half turning my way.

"Can I ask you for a favor, a big favor?" she muttered. It took me nearly a minute to respond.

"Unlike most women, I believe in reciprocity," I told her. "I'll listen."

"Would you kiss me? Just one kiss," she whispered. "I'll fully understand if you don't want to and I'll leave if you say 'no.’"

"After what we just went through, do you realize how bizarre that request is?" I queried.

"I attacked you on your sofa," she finally looked at me. "Yes, I know."

"Knowing how I feel about contact with women you are still asking this of me," I mused. It wasn't a question; I was trying to reason this out.

"You are right," she sighed and put her hand on the door knob, ready to leave.

"Not going to get your kiss?" I inquired as I stood up.

"Stop screwing with me," she shook her head with her back still to me. She opened the door.

"You are a woman and a cop, which is kind of redundant," I explained, "but I don't think you were ordered to spend time with me. That makes me believe that for whatever twisted reason you treat me as if I have something above my shoulders besides a smile and nice hair."

Angel shut the door as I walked up to her. I cupped her jaw line tenderly in both hands before leaning in for a kiss. When my tongue darted across her lips, she opened up and let her tongue come out to play. Slowly she placed her hands on my hips, not pulling me in but showing a reluctance to let me slip away. After a minute I retreated.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Angel panted. "That was fantastic. I thought you didn't like women, or interacting with women."

"Part of my therapy was making me comfortable with sex," I told her. "They taught me all kinds of things." When they said they wanted me to be a productive member of society what they really meant was that they wanted me to screw.

"Thank you," she smiled.

"You are welcome," I gave a weary grin. "Now, would you please leave?"

"Absolutely," she nodded. When she left I leaned against the door, slid down and started to cry. The thing was, I was beginning to like Angel but I couldn't trust her because she was a woman. I desperately wanted to avoid going down that road again.

Wednesday's metro trip was surprisingly intense. My only excuse was that I had not put several of the local news outlets on my 'must do first' list. I had planned to do some reading on the ride to work. I had the sickening sensation that more women were paying attention to me than normal and it didn't take them long to close in.

The most unusual things they asked me was if I was 'okay', if I was 'safe' which I thought was a reference to the press conference, and if there was anything they could do. I've heard that last one before but not with that level of compassion and worry. In a strange way, I believed they thought that by hovering close around me they were protecting me, not freaking me out.

I felt like a field mouse caught in a stampeded of lemmings or a hidden gazelle calf being stalked by a leopard. Then I read the local news leads and it all made sense. I had the wrong metaphor. I was a gazelle alright. I was a male gazelle and the lionesses had just figured out that unseen crocodiles had been picking off my brethren at the watering hole.

A subliminal panic was setting in. It wasn't a rational response; such things rarely are. Statistically speaking, there weren't enough men to go around. That was the cold, logical fact that women had learned to deal with, but, most women believed they would be one of the lucky ones, get a male and pass on their genetic heritage.

This morning, the main story was that nearly 2,000 men in my age group had gone missing and that the local, state and federal authorities had no leads. Technically, the missing were a very tiny number. It wasn't the number that mattered to the women around me; it was the fact that I symbolized their vanishing opportunity to 'succeed' as a female member of the human race.

Oh yeah, and they even had the local number of male disappearances right, 24. The women had scanned my wrist band that held my sexual identity and verified that I had no attachments. Their instinct was to protect me and hold me close. Not one of them asked me if this was what I wanted, though I could tell some of them noticed the fear in my eyes.

The desperate relief with which I regarded Debra when she approached me on the metro made me feel cowardly ill.

"Debra," I choked out. There was some raw hunger in her countenance, but also some genuine concern over my state of agitation.

"Hey, Israel," she smiled. "Can I, uh, sit with you?"

I hopped out of my metro seat and let Debra take my place. None of the dozen women hovering around abandoned me though.

"Debra?" one of the more aggressive ladies asked, I think her name was Ambrosia. "Yesterday, Debra? Is it true he went down on you right off the bat?"

"Yes and it was divine," Debra giggled. It was too much to hope that either woman would respect my privacy, or private acts. "The actual sex was even better."

"And that was in a bathroom stall," Ambrosia murmured. "Think about what he would be like on a real bed." Debra sighed dreamily. The other women kept crowding in.

Common wisdom was that passive women didn't get a man. They had to get out there and get a male's interest then rope him in. Men could play hard to get, but they were never 'not interested'; that was crazy talk. Thus my shivering was interpreted as repressed sexual tension, not stark raving terror.

Did I have time for something this morning? No, I was already in trouble for being late yesterday. What about this evening? I was buried in work. This weekend? I was attending a Complex Party, neighbors only and I felt obliged to go with the woman who invited me. The irony of me 'escaping' to work was not lost on me.

Security took extra care of me going in. No, they weren't gentle. They seemed to believe I had developed the audacity to kill myself and take a few of them with me as I did. This probably had more to do with the revelation of my 'encounter' in college, no one in authority would call it rape, so I was now considered worthy of special attention. They couldn't call me unstable; I had to do something stupid first.

Back in therapy my doctor told me I was too good looking to be ignored. She told me that was a good thing because it would make women want to protect and nurture me. I would have plenty of partners and make them very happy. I'd do my part and save the World. I have no idea how many of those sorority girls I knocked up, if any.

I was still horrified by the idea that I'd left any of my progeny under any of their care. I could have checked online but since I was powerless to do anything, I didn't torture myself with the knowledge.

I managed to slip into the office with seconds to spare. Bethany came by to check, looking a bit agitated.

"What you said yesterday was uncalled for," she broke down and stated.

"Please, Bethany," I groaned. "Do we,” I stopped myself. I was getting nowhere.

"I was really tired," I tried again. "It was an emotional outburst after a stressful day."

"In that case, I forgive you," Bethany smiled. "You can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner tonight." No, I would rather chew on power lines.

"I'm interested in someone else," I didn't quite lie.

"That woman who came by Monday?" Bethany lectured me. "She's way too old and not really good looking enough. Remember what Miss Silverhorn said, you only date attractive girls from here on out." Kristi was what, thirty? When did that become too old?

"Detective Kristi isn't that old," I muttered.

"You can do better," she crowded me in my cubicle. In the old days, I heard there were things like staplers and letter openers that cubicle workers could use to defend themselves. Everything at my workstation was bolted down, thus useless as a tool to drive Bethany away.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I evaded.

"Okay," Bethany purred, "but I expect you to take me out to dinner." I fled the room like the eviscerated shell I had devolved into. Shelter came in the form of a stall, sitting on the toilet seat, knees drawn up to my chin. It wasn't courage that helped me fight back the tears. It was the hard won knowledge that tears left the eyes puffy and that would lead to women asking me even more questions I didn't want to answer.

Bethany was back at her own station when I returned. After that, I buried myself in my work. My co-workers stopped by to check up on me with essentially the same inquiries as the metro crowd, but with the added bonus of wanting to exchange contact information with me. This time I surrendered. I had little doubt they couldn't wrangle a favor with someone in Human Resources to give it to them anyway.

At 9:05, my day got worse. A call was forwarded to me. It was the reporter from yesterday's press conference.

"Israel Jensen," I answered.

"Eloise Granger from The Sentinel," she answered. "We chatted briefly yesterday. Do you recall what we discussed?"

"Yes. I see your story went national. Congratulations," I said.

"Do you still feel safe?" she hinted at something I couldn't figure out.

"Sure, why wouldn't I?" I hedged.

"With all the disappearances, I wasn't positive what kind of spin you would put on it," I could see her grin on the screen mocking me.

"If you are fishing for a statement, you are not going to get one," I countered.

"Really?" she snorted. "So four more men in your age range going missing last night doesn't affect you at all?" Oh Mother-fucking God!

"Four nation-wide?" I mumbled.

"No; 96 nationwide," she supplied. "Only four in the city. We were lucky."

"Right before the story broke?" I pieced things together.

"My goodness," she laughed. "A man capable of independent rational thought. How unique." My rage was yelling at me to say 'blow it out your ass', but that could get me in trouble.

"Well, if I don't show up to work tomorrow you may infer that I am less than pleased with law enforcements progress on this matter," I met her sarcasm with sarcasm of my own, "but for now, I'm not worried." Miss Granger laughed again. I figured she was a Miss and not a Mrs. because married women tended to take great pride in their status, kind of rubbing it in people's noses.

"Can I quote you on that?" she chuckled.

"If I say 'no' will it stop you?" I sighed.

"No, but since I'm cultivating you as a contact I thought I would be polite," Granger snickered.

"Is that what this is?" I muttered. "In that case, have a nice day and goodbye," I said before hanging up.

After taking a deep breath, I fired off a message to Miss Silverhorn with the gist of my talk with Miss Granger. I was a civil servant with my career skating on the edge. The last thing I needed was for my boss to believe I was leaking anything to the press. Right after I received confirmation from Francesca, a message from Miss Chen arrived.

“Your presence is requested at a private function this Saturday at 9 p.m. Dress casually. A car service will pick you up at your door at 8:15 p.m., Bi Chen.”

The only thing I could decide on right away was that there was no way I was going. Come on, no address, clothes that could be easily removed and no hint on when I could expect to get home.

“Thank you for the polite invitation but I must regretfully decline. I have a previous engagement for the date in question. Sincerely, Israel Jensen.”

I had no illusion this was the end of it. Refusing women with power and privilege rarely ended well. I had to plot out my next move.

“Mr. Jensen, the Mayor's office would truly appreciate you reconsidering our generous offer to engage your time this Saturday evening. Best wishes, Bi Chen.”

Not only was that a polite threat, it didn't cross the frontier of sexual harassment, yet. I had to think of the best way to tell her that I would rather spend a night in a coffin full of spiders.

“Miss Chen, my current circumstances make it impossible for me to break my appointment at this time. I hope you have a nice evening. Israel Jensen.”

My evasion was total crap. It was a complex party; undoubtedly a casual affair that I could exit after a brief appearance. I was unsure how Miss Chen would penetrate my deception but I'm sure she'd try.

Twenty minutes later I was called to Miss Silverhorn's office. To emphasize how fucked my situation was, Bethany's look as I passed by was full of concern and sympathy.

"Israel, Miss Diaz wants you to attend a party Saturday evening," Francesca stated when I entered her office without even looking up from her screen.

"Is that advice, a suggestion, or an order?" I countered. Now Francesca looked up.

"It is advice," she mused. "You are pretending to be rather pugnacious today."

"Advice noted. Can I go back to work now?" I asked.

"Fine," she sighed. "Consider this a suggestion. Going to this private affair will help your career."

"I seriously doubt there will be anyone there I want to meet," I replied. I was clearly losing my mind at this point.

"Isobel Diaz wants you to be there, Israel. I seriously think you should reconsider," Miss Silverhorn stressed the point.

"That's an extra reason for me not to go," I muttered. "If you make it an order, I want it in writing. Make a note that you are telling me to prostitute myself to your superiors. Whoever's career this helps, it won't be mine so stop pedaling that angle."

"Israel, your attitude hasn't improved since yesterday," she regarded me.

"That's okay. I didn't want to sleep with you anyway," I noted.

"What?" Francesca balked. "Where did that come from?"

"Since you don't respect me as a writer, I assumed you wanted me for sex," I stared.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" she studied me.

"Probably. I thought that treating you like a walking vagina with attachments would help you understand what it is to be treated like a cock with a voice box," I responded.

"That's not your job," she pointed out.

"Neither is providing sexual services to campaign contributors," I stated deadpan. There was no immediate response to that. "May I go back to work now?"

"Go," she dismissed me. I heard her snort with amusement as I left.

I wasn't sure how I made it back to my desk. The next few hours flew by. Wanda, one of my co-workers, ordered us some Indian take-out because the shit storm from the mass kidnapping story was making the group create a variety of spin to deal with the 'crisis.’ I was only doing proof-reading but it kept my mind busy and my emotions bottled up.

At 1:30 Miss Silverhorn came by my desk to see how I was doing. The Mayor wanted me to stand with her at a press conference at 4:30 and Francesca wanted to assess if I was up for it. She wasn't able to judge my current level of stability by looks alone.

"If it wasn't for the Mayor's insistence, I'd keep you back this time," she informed me.

"And don't even think about refusing," she added.

"That never occurred to me," I told her. "This is part of my job description as outlined by you on Monday. You don't need to worry. I'll do my job."

"I hope so. The Mayor isn't going to take the hit if you screw this up, I will," she told me.

I had no real comeback for that. In a quirk of our culture, I could only be held to so much accountability because no group of women would believe a man had real authority. The rest of the experience went pretty much as expected until I came out of the bathroom after 'prepping' myself for the stage.

Selma, Miss Silverhorn's second in command, began chatting away at me while taking quick peeks at the bulge in my pants. Once past that constant uncomfortable feeling that I was marginalized as a human being, I realized she was giving me a total catalog of useless political tripe to regurgitate to the press if questioned.

I didn't mind (too much) being treated like I was stupid, but I hated acting like a moron. I had never completely abdicated my sense of self-worth. I had more than my share of days where I doubted the wisdom of struggling on. I kept going on anyway and that was why I wouldn't be parroting this garbage if the situation came up.

It came up five questions into the press conference. This time they didn't seek the Mayor's permission. A lady for Global News Network fired one right at me.

"So, Mr. Jensen, after yesterday's boast, how do you feel now?" Maribel Cartwright challenged me. I was still in possession of enough of my faculties to look to the Mayor for permission first.

She grudgingly gave it.

"I am heartened by the willingness of authorities at all levels of government to take this to the press as they work on this dilemma threatening our society," I responded calmly. "No, I do not feel as safe today as I did yesterday," I imagined the Mayor cringing and Miss Diaz stabbing virtual daggers in my back.

"No one feels safe when threatened by a hurricane. That's living in denial. Panicking, fleeing to the hills or cowering in your basement are also fruitless. To survive as a group, we band together, utilize all our resources and see this crisis through to the end. I am not aware of any agency holding back on this matter," I declared.

"I do not feel safe but I do know that the government, from the Mayor and city council on up, is the only true option that can restore this situation so that all men can feel safe eventually," I concluded. I didn't feel like an idiot. I felt like a traitor to my gender.

Logically I understood that screaming at my brethren that the women couldn't defend us so we would have to defend ourselves was pointless, the establishment would simply sweep my statement away as the ramblings of a deranged crack-pot. So I played nice and kept my job. I fielded a few more questions after that.

The final one was almost too much.

"Mr. Jensen, those are very tight pants you are wearing. You seem happy to see us this afternoon," she chuckled. Yeah, I shivered. For a second I was back to being that gazelle calf, but this time I was surrounded by a pack of hyenas.

"I'm in a room full of beautiful ladies," I forced a grin. "What do you think?" The press corps laughed. The pretty boy made a 'funny.’ That was the end of the focus on me. After the conference ended and I entered the elevator, Selma lit into me.

"What the hell was that?" she snapped. "Weren't you listening to the approved responses?"

I took a deep breath; 3, 2, 1.

Vanishing Manhood: Part 1

Tenth Amendment — Mon, 15 Jun 2026 02:45:00 +0000

Vanishing Manhood: Part 1

A man in the world, were only a few males remain.

Based on ‘One In Ten’ by FinalStand. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Fear is a terrible seducer. It steals you away from the rest of the World.

I pulled up to my new apartment complex and groaned. It was a two story building shaped as a big U with a large swimming pool in the middle and a gym situated at the open end. Not for the first time I wished I had paid the hefty bribe and moved into a 'married couples' building and not this 'singles' complex the Housing Authority had saddled me with.

Head down, I began unloading my rental van and lugging my few belongings to my second story condo. I avoided other residents until I had my third box at my door. I wasn't stupid enough to leave my door open so I had to fiddle with the knob while balancing the box with one knee.

"Hi there," a female voice caught me off guard. "Do you need help with that?"

Now I'm no idiot. Sure, I had my long-sleeve shirt buttoned down, tight jeans that would be difficult to remove quickly and a strong belt on, but I wasn't inviting a strange woman into my dwelling. The odds of getting a conviction of female on male rape these days was nearly impossible. The assumption was that if I invited the girl in it was because I wanted to get fucked, essentially, I was asking for it.

"No, thank you. I've got this," I replied politely. "I turned and saw an attractive woman with dirty-blonde hair, around five-ten and athletically built. Her grey eyes bore into me and, while her smile remained plastered on her face, it grew frosty.

"Bracelet," she requested politely.

It wasn't something I could refuse, it was the law. I had to give my identity to any female of legal age. For the law's sake, all men had quarter-inch metal bands attached to their right wrists. The integrated chip was updated every twenty-four hours and held all my vital statistics. I was about to put the box down when she placed a hand underneath it.

"We can do that inside if you like," she suggested.

"That's very nice of you, but I don't know you," I evaded. I put the box down and extended my right arm toward her. She pulled out her phone, scanned my bracelet and then smirked.

"Single White Male, twenty-one, no attachments and you haven't had sex in the current cycle," she mused.

"I can help you with that," her demeanor warmed up slightly, mistakenly guessing that not having sex yet so late in this 28 day cycle I would be more receptive to her advances. All women liked to believe men were willing and eager to do our part in the procreative process. I had certainly never been asked about it.

"Thanks, but I've had a long drive. I need to finish getting the van unloaded and then unpack everything," I tried to be as nice as possible. That was not the answer she was looking for.

She looked back at her phone and scrolled through something. I took the opportunity to open my door and quickly pushed the box inside with my foot.

"You have been paying the fine for the last four cycles," she noted with critical interest. It was a demanding, dominant look. I couldn't tell if she was going to challenge my masculinity or make me cringe in fear at the exposure of my confidential information.

"Wait," I gulped. "How do you know that?"

She shifted her jacket aside and showed me her badge, and gun. She was a Metropolitan Police Officer, oh shit. Sexual harassment by police officers on men was frighteningly common.

"Yes," I replied promptly. "Yes, I have."

"What's wrong with you?" she questioned me. "Are you homosexual? Can't you perform?"

The fine for male homosexuality was far more crippling than merely abstaining for a short while. Not having sex with a woman for six straight months was grounds for the violation of my civil rights and we both knew it. The plethora of male enhancement drugs and surgery made me not performing a joke. The whole issue of paying fines for abstaining from sex was confidential for a reason. It pissed many women off that men could still buy their way out of spending time with them. In the past, when that information had been generally available on our bracelets, some females had taken it upon themselves to 'teach' the offending male a lesson. To put a stop to this practice, the information had been reclassified as confidential.

"I really don't want to answer that," I said softly. "Please, it is personal."

"Very well, Mr. Jensen, or would you prefer I call you Israel?" she studied me.

"Thank you," I stammered. Her grin grew as she pulled out her card and thrust it into my hand.

"Detective Angel Kristi," she informed me. "My roommate and I live right across the hall. Her name is Roni and she's a paramedic. I'll come by and check in on you when I get off shift." With that she headed downstairs. I took a deep breath. I had no illusions that her checking up on me was something I could refuse.

I managed to get the rest of my stuff inside before my second encounter. Two girls came at me with a bottle of tequila and a Tupperware container with all kinds of food in it. One was a tight-bodied Asian woman, a slender 5 foot 3, with black hair down to her shoulder blades. The other was a black girl, around 5 foot 8, and built like a female volleyball player.

"Welcome neighbor," the black girl greeted me enthusiastically. "I'm Aniqua and this is my roommate, Kuiko." Kuiko waved with her free hand.

"Hey, Kuiko and Aniqua, I'm Israel Jensen" I gave them my best noncommittal grin. "Thank you."

"Sure," Kuiko stepped right up to me. "Is someone helping you unpack?"

Since the odds of me having a male roommate were miniscule (two guys in one domicile only happened in pornos and sitcoms). We both knew she was really asking if I had a girlfriend. That probably would have saved me, but they might have asked permission before getting me drunk and dragging me off for a fuck session. I decided to save them the trouble of scanning me.

"I'm a single White male; no attachments," I sighed. It took Aniqua a second to figure out what I wasn't saying.

"Bracelet," she 'suggested.’ I offered, she scanned and she took a deep intake of breath. "You haven't had sex this cycle yet, oh goodie!"

"That's," gulp, "nice, but I'm exhausted from the move. Can I catch up with you ladies later?"

"Damn," Kuiko looked upset, and very frustrated. That gave me a sinking feeling.

"Am I the only guy in the complex?" I worried.

"Yes," Aniqua confirmed excitedly. "You are not only the only one here, but the only one on the entire block."

Oh fucking God! This couldn't be happening to me. When I was a freshman in college, a girl I trusted took me to a sorority party. She promised me she was only showing me off to her girl-pals. I was fucked raw for an entire weekend and they got it all on video. Like an idiot, I went to Campus Security.

They told me 'girls will be girls' and what did I expect going to a sorority party. As I left in utter humiliation, they joked about me having a nice ass. I never trusted a girl again. Once a month I picked a random girl on campus and asked her to fuck. I never got turned down and I never slept with a girl who hit on me.

In my junior year my Mother died and I received a small amount of money in an insurance policy. After that, I skated the law by paying the fine for five months at a time. The police came to visit me and I had court appointed psychiatrist appointments (again). Technically, I was still a citizen so they couldn't force me to take aphrodisiacs.

I met a guy who went down that road and he was a mess, hardly able to say 'no' to any woman, or women, he met.

"I really appreciate the gifts and the information but I really need to get my apartment in order before starting work tomorrow. Don't want to mess up my first day on the job," I informed them hoping they'd take the hint and back off.

"What's your job and where are you working?" Kuiko inquired.

"Public Relations for the Office of the Mayor," I confessed.

"Oh, you are political," Aniqua drew the wrong conclusion.

"No," I kept smiling. "I work for the city."

"I bet the reporting pool is going to love you," Kuiko sighed. It was not lost on me that Chicago's chief executive might have chosen my application because of that. Essentially, I was a pretty face to put the best face possible on her policies.

"Well, I hope they will respect that I was top of my class," I suggested.

The girls giggled as if what I was proposing was absurd.

"Oh, you're adorable," Aniqua patted my shoulder. "You are going to be so much fun to have around."

"The last guy was a really fun slut," Kuiko sighed. "Then one day the poor little moron thought he was in love and got married to a woman who wouldn't share."

"Yeah, some women are no fun," I gulped. "On that note though, I really have to go," I backed into my apartment.

"Bye now," they waved in unison. As the door shut I heard Kuiko say,

"See the chest on that guy? He's got some real stamina," she mused.

"I hope he has a really big cock," Aniqua added. "Joseph was okay but he was barely five inches. Let's go online and see what his reviews are like."

I lost track of their voices as they wandered down the hall. I busied myself unpacking my meager belongs in my pre-furnished pad. I paced the place. I checked to see if the windows would open, but they were all stationary. If I wanted out, I'd have to kick a window open. All the interior doors were flimsy and the locks cheap. With every revelation, my heart sank deeper into despair. This didn't feel like a home. It felt like a holding cell with a comforting veneer.

I didn't like being in a place that had only one way in and out. My history left me like that. In the end I went for my old college trick of moving my dresser against my bedroom door before I went to bed with my baseball bat. I would have rather have had a gun. Men had to jump through hoops to get one and with my 'mental' history I knew that wasn't going to happen.

Maybe they were afraid I'd blow my brains out and that wouldn't do while I still had two working testicles. Despite the strange surroundings I managed to get to sleep without my sleeping pill which had been prescribed for me. I hated taking those pills. They left me feeling like I was walking in a fog.

I woke up a bit past midnight, feeling that something was wrong. I didn't know what it was until I heard the doorbell ring, again, I assumed. Fuck that noise, I wasn't answering the door after midnight. Hell, I didn't want to open my door after dark. There were two more rings then I guessed they gave up.

When the door knob turned, the brass candlestick I had placed on it fell. I grabbed my phone and called 9 1 1. The operator kept me on the line while letting me know that a patrol car was on the way. I nearly lost it. The intruder tried to get in my bedroom, bumping against the dresser.

"Israel, it is Angel," the intruder informed me. I thought about what to tell the 9 1 1 operator but there was no way I could see to win this. I informed the operator that there was a police officer already here with me, who she was and that the intruder must have been scared off. A few seconds later, Detective Kristi's phone rang and she verified my version of events.

"Are you going to let me in?" she asked.

"Do I have a choice?" I replied.

"Sure, but I read your file and I think we need to talk," she countered. I didn't say anything for the longest time. "I'll go if you want me to," she finally spoke up.

"Are you going to keep coming back?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered. I sighed and moved the dresser aside but I kept my bat. Angel came into my room and I backed to the bed. For a second, in my fatigue, I sat on my bed. When I realized where I was, I shot back up. She would assume my waiting on the bed meant I was 'receptive.’

There was a curl to Angel's lip as she regarded me.

"I would like to talk to you," she repeated. "We could talk out on the sofa if you prefer." That was a ruse. I'd been held down and screwed on all kinds of furniture as well as the floor, carpet and the dirt. No place was safe.

"We can talk in here," I allowed.

"I would feel better if you put down the bat," she requested.

"Are you going to put down your gun?" I countered. Surprisingly, she un-holstered her weapon and put it on the dresser. I felt obliged to lean the bat against the wall. It was well within arm's reach. My action was a concession to a cop not a sign of trust.

Detective Kristi walked toward me and sat on the bed, patting the space next to her. I remained standing next to my bat.

"I know what happened to you when you were sixteen," she said softly. When I was sixteen, I was walking home from a date with my girlfriend (I was normal then) when I saw a woman having trouble on the side of the road.

I stopped to help her only to realize she had a body in the trunk. I found myself staring into the eyes of killer with a gun. She quizzed me about whether I was a good boy or not. I told her I was coming home from a date with my first girlfriend. She asked if we had sex. I confessed that she'd only given me a blowjob because I was unready for complete intercourse.

That admission saved my life but led to 87 days of hell. She kept me in her basement where she raped me at least once a day and sometimes three or four times. When she wasn't raping me, she was luring male prostitutes and dancers home and killing them for being 'impure.’ She was a female police officer out on permanent disability (she had been shot in the stomach and lost both ovaries).

The experience left me awfully traumatized. I was ordered into therapy and was awarded an eighteen month exemption on sexual conduct. The therapy cured me of my terror, right up until I went to college. I took the psychological training I had learned after my abduction which encouraged me to reintegrate into society and tried to be normal. I met a girl two years older who aggressively pursued me. I reciprocated, we dated and I thought we really had a mutually supportive relationship. I was conditioned by the whole social or civil system to believe my girlfriend would keep me from harm.

That systemic subliminal conditioning convinced me to trust my girlfriend and that led me to being an unwilling participant in an orgy at her sorority. My ensuing encounter with campus security effectively eliminated any intentions I may have had about women and relationships.

"Well, you know what happened to me," I replied quietly. "Why is that relevant now?"

"You seemed to have transited the recovery program rather well but when you went to college you seem to have relapsed," Angel stated. So much for the confidentiality of my medical files, I thought.

"Oh," I stared at her, "you are now an expert on male rape and recovery?"

"No, but I showed your file to a co-worker who does specialize in it," Angel told me. "She says your behavior is abnormal."

"Good for her. Thanks for prying into my private life and medical files," I grew angry.

"I can't tell you how much I enjoy having a total stranger rip my life bare for your and your co-worker's enjoyment," I added. "Is this the point where you comfort me in my grief and then I perform for you?"

"No Israel, I only came by to talk," she took a deep breath.

"You don't need to be seeing women as the enemy," Angel went on. "That's not healthy. You need to trust women again like you did before your rape."

"What? My complaint to Campus Security didn't make it into my permanent record, what a crime," I joked bitterly.

"Your fucking therapy worked, Cop," I grumbled. "I trusted a girl in college and was raped for a weekend by her and about forty of her sorority sisters. The video was all over the university for months. Since I was so clearly a whore, girls felt it was okay to touch and grab me when and where ever. Why exactly should I trust when all therapy taught me was a lie?"

"Israel, you cannot live your life in fear," Angel sounded intense. "Women are everywhere. Besides, therapy wasn't a lie. Most women aren't monsters and respect men and their rights."

"Listen, Officer Kristi, I do my part," I glared. "I have the required amount of sex or pay the fine. I'm not a subversive. I don't frequent subversive internet sites. I follow the law."

"You know that's not enough, Israel," Angel stood up. "Our youth demographic is in decline and before long Congress is going to expand on the Gender Inequality Act. Men will be required to contribute more; more sex with more partners and plural marriages."

"Why are you telling me this?" I hung my head.

"I think you are a nice guy, Israel," Angel rubbed my left bicep. "I don't want to see you go under."

"The fact that I am the only man in a block has nothing to do with it," I stated in a neutral voice.

"I'm not a saint, but I'll be your friend if you need one," Angel offered.

"Yeah, right," I let my bitterness boil forth for a second, "since the police have been my friends all my life. The police are women looking after women and men had better watch out unless we want to find ourselves 'wards of the state.'" I immediately regretted telling her the truth.

"See Israel, those are the wrong kinds of thoughts that can get you in trouble," she warned me with enough compassion to scare me.

"We are having a party by the pool Saturday at noon. Why don't you show up?" Angel suggested. "It will do you good to get out there and deal with this problem of yours head-on."

"Okay," I felt dead inside. "I'll be there."

"Don't be like that," Angel sighed in exasperation. "It will be fun. No one will act inappropriately. You'll have a good time."

"Let me guess," I pulled away. "You'll be there to protect me."

"I know you don't believe me. Just show up and you will see that you don't need protection. If you feel uncomfortable, let me know," Angel tried to keep the warmth in her voice.

"Thank you," I lied. This whole interview was worse than a waste of time. "I need to get some sleep so could you please leave now."

"Learn to relax a little, Israel," Angel warned me again, but she did leave. I followed along. At the door she handed me my candlestick.

"Nice trick," she grinned.

"Yeah, but now that you know it, I'll have to think of something else," I admitted. She shook her head in disappointment but left without comment.

The next morning I woke up bright and early. I wanted to make a good impression and show up early to work. I made my way to the metro stop with all the normal precautions. I wished it was winter, not summer, so that I could wear heavier clothes and not stand out. As it was, I wore a light overcoat despite the high being forecast to be around 80 degrees.

I also kept headphones and kept my notepad close to my face reading a book online so I didn't have to make eye contact with any women. To my dismay, the only other man at the station appeared to be around fifty-five and exhausted. Something was clearly wrong. The Housing Authority normally made sure that single men and women were put in close proximity. Something was definitely w

A Quick Midnight Dip

Snowden Speaks — Sat, 13 Jun 2026 12:07:00 +0000

A Quick Midnight Dip

Cheryl’s naked swim on a hot night turns her hotter.

Based on a post by Ashson. Listen to the ►Podcast at Steamy Stories.

I love hot sunny days. You can get away with wearing almost nothing, knowing all the boys are watching you. You can go swimming or take a pleasant walk in the country (as long as you choose a suitably shaded trail). Sunny days are the best.

There is one problem with hot sunny days. They tend to be followed by hot, mucky, nights, and they’re the pits. You’re too hot and sweaty to sleep and too tired not to and you have a dreadful night and wake up grumpy.

Turn on the air conditioner, I hear you say. Then you’re a trifle cooler and kept awake by the insist drone of the air conditioner. Whisper quiet, they say. A very loud whisper if you ask me, pitched in a voice that carries it throughout the house.

This particular night I was trying to sleep without using an air conditioner. The heat and humidity were winning. I grumbled my way out of bed and over to the window, hoping that if I leaned out I might catch a faint breeze.

I had mixed luck there. I didn’t find a breeze but I did spot the swimming pool next door, full of cool, calming, cleansing, water. Why not go for a quick dip, I asked myself?

Why not indeed? The Adams’s were away on vacation and not expected back for another week. No-one was there. I knew this because my mother had the key and checked the place every so often. I could slip next door and have a nice refreshing dip. The exercise and the coolness would help me get to sleep afterwards.

I was about to grab my bikini but then I thought the hell with it. There wouldn’t be anyone around and even if there was it was night. No-one would see me. I slipped out of the house and went next door.

Initially I sat on the edge of the pool, just dangling my feet in the water. Even that much contact with the cool water was enough to feel refreshing. I was wearing baby-doll pyjamas, scraps of material that weighed nothing. It was a job of seconds to shed them and then I was in the pool.

I swam a little and then floated a little, luxuriating in the coolness. It wasn’t nearly as dark as I’d thought it would be, what with a clear sky and a full moon. I could actually see quite well. Still, I was safe from observation. When I’d looked from my window the pool had been shadowy. I felt I could safely assume that the same would apply to anyone else who looked out of their window at midnight, not that there would be too many people doing that.

I was just floating drowsily, thinking that I really should get out and go back to bed. I got a real shock when someone spoke to me.

“Hi, Cheryl. Looks like great minds think alike.”

I promptly tried to drown myself but after a bit of swearing and floundering I found myself standing in water that wasn’t too deep and still covered me to chest high. Looking around I saw Jordan and Brendan standing by the steps of the pool, smiling at me. What was worse was the fact that they were both wearing bathing shorts.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. I know, silly question. What did I think they were doing seeing both of them were dressed for swimming?

“Take a guess,” said Jordan. “Go on. Take a wild stab at the reason we’re here.”

“You’re going swimming,” I said. “Well, not with me, you’re not. Go hop in the deep end and I’ll depart and leave you to it.”

“Now don’t be like that, Cheryl. We wouldn’t dream of depriving you of your swim. If you don’t want company in the pool we’ll just wait here until you’re ready to go. That’s fair and reasonable, isn’t it Jordan.”

“I have to agree with you, Brendan. That sounds like a plan to me.”

The two oafs just stood there smiling.

“Ah, look, boys, I’m not exactly dressed for male company. Do you mind moving elsewhere while I get out?”

“Cheryl,” exclaimed Brendan. “Don’t tell me you’re skinny dipping. I’m shocked. Truly shocked. Aren’t you shocked, Jordan?”

“I am, Brendan. Deeply shocked. To think that sweet little Cheryl would go skinny dipping at night. In someone else’s pool at that.”

“All right, cut the clown act. It’s not funny. I’ll admit you have me at a disadvantage. Now will you please just back off for a few moments?”

“The girl has a point, Brendan,” Jordan said, sounding thoughtful. “It’s almost criminal the disadvantage she has, being naked and all. How about we even the playing field a little?”

Call me suspicious but I didn’t trust them one little bit. I was right not to. Brendan nodded at Jordan’s comment and then both of them dropped their bathing shorts, leaving them as naked as me. Nakeder, even, as a pair of erections were standing out and shining in the moonlight.

I suddenly felt so hot that I almost expected the water to start boiling around me. Oh lord, how could I even look in their direction without seeing those things sticking out?

“Do you mind?” I gasped out. “Will you please have the common decency to just back off and let me get out?”

“Um, no,” said Brendan, with Jordan promptly seconding that.

“Feel free to hop out. We won’t look, will we, Brendan?”

“Ah, I don’t know about you but I’ll certainly be looking,” Brendan said. “You saw how fine she looked just floating there. Imagine how good she’ll look standing in front of us.”

My face was burning. How long had they been standing there watching me?

“How about you come on out? We’ll look, but we won’t touch.”

“That doesn’t apply to you,” added Jordan. “You can both look and touch. We won’t object.”

Despite myself my eyes dropped to their erections. I bet they wouldn’t object if I touched them. I felt myself getting all hot again.

“I’m not getting out while you two stand there. You’d probably, ah, grab me or something.”

“Are you implying that we might grab you with nefarious intentions?” asked Brendan, sounding a little insulted. He turned to look at Jordan. “Nefarious intentions means she’s scared we might try to rape her,” he explained.“

“I knew that,” said Jordan. “It just goes to show she’s not as dumb as she looks.”

“I beg your pardon?” I snarled. Dumb as I look indeed.

“Ooh, bad move Jordan,” said Brendan with a smirk.

“That just came out wrong,” Jordan protested. “I was just trying to point out that she’s very astute in assessing what our intentions are.”

In other words they intended to pounce as soon as I got out of the pool. I was in a little spot of bother here.

“You’re an idiot, Jordan,” Brendan told him. “Why don’t you just invite her here so we can fuck her?”

“Oh, right. We can do that because she’s eighteen now,” said Jordan. “Um, Cheryl, would you please get out of the pool and join us so we can make love to you? We’d really appreciate it. We’ll even let you pick the positions.”

Was he for real? He couldn’t be that dumb. As a matter of fact I knew he wasn’t. He was really highly intelligent. So why the dumb question?

“I’ll scream if you don’t go away,” I warned them.

“No, I don’t think you will,” Brendan said.

“Why not?”

“Because when we run away we’ll take those with us,” he pointed to my baby-doll pyjamas, “and you’ll be trying to explain to people why you’re standing out here naked and screaming. Everyone will be talking about it for months.”

I gave him a nasty look and he just smiled.

“Well, we seem to be at a bit of a stand-off,” Jordan said. “There’s really only one way to resolve this.”

“You’re leaving?” I asked hopefully and he laughed.

“Ah, no. Just stay where you are for a moment.”

With that he stepped down into the pool and started walking towards me. At least one good thing would come of that, I thought viciously. His blasted cock will shrink in the cold water.

He just walked towards me as casually as though he was walking on the grass. I waited to see what he would do which was a little mistake on my part. I expected him to stop in front of me and try and coax me out of the water. He didn’t stop.

He took one step too many and my naked body was plastered against his, his arm going around me to hold me firmly against him. Not only that, but the cold water wasn’t doing the right thing. I could feel his erection, hard as a rock and pressed against my tummy.

“I thought cold water would, ah, um.” I faltered, not quite able to say what I wanted to.

“Have a deflating effect on me?” he asked. “Not likely when there’s a lovely naked girl right there in front of me. Time to leave the water now.”

“If you try and drag me out of the pool I will kick and bite and scream and hit and scratch,” I warned him. “And shift that thing away from me.”

“I have no intention of dragging you out of the pool,” he said, a smile on his face.

The hand on my back dropped down to my bottom, pulling me a little more firmly against him. His other hand promptly joined it, both hands now clutching the cheeks of my bottom.

“Nice bottom,” he said, and lifted.

In the water I guess I weighed nothing at all, the water bearing my weight. When he lifted I popped up out of the water, my breasts now on full display, or they would have been if they weren’t plastered against him. On top of that I was now somewhat higher where his erection was concerned. It wasn’t pressing against my tummy but between my legs, legs that I was holding firmly together.

“Put me down,” I gasped, my hands grabbing his shoulders to hold myself steady.

“In a moment. Let your legs drift apart. Bring them around me.”

“But, but if I do that…” My voice trailed off.

“If you do that I’ll put you down, as requested,” he said, and I could feel him silently laughing.

“I’ll just bet you will. You’ll put me down on top of your stupid erection.”

“Now don’t you go insulting my erection,” he grumbled. “It’s the only one I’ve got. The term you want is thick, not stupid. Your legs,” he tacked on as a reminder.

I looked at him and considered what I knew of him and Brendan. All things considered they were a pair of nice boys. Would they really rape me if I actively resisted? They wouldn’t. They just wouldn’t do that. All I had to do was scream or start fighting and they’d back off.

So what did I do? I let my legs drift apart, the buoyancy of the water lifting them at the same time. I had no doubt whatsoever that Jordan could tell what I’d done, mainly because he would feel his erection slipping between my legs. I know I felt it.

He knew alright. He started lowering me and his cock was pressing up between my legs, seeking my slit, eager to get somewhere nice and warm. He was rocking his hips slightly, dragging the head of his cock back and forth along my slit. He seemed to know when it was settled against my vaginal passage as he stopped rocking and started pushing.

I found myself slowly settling down onto his cock as it steadily rose up into me. I could feel it, scraping against the sides of my passage, pushing forward to make more room for itself, going in deeper with each passing moment. I could feel heat exploding out of me, flooding my loins, welcoming this stranger into me.

I automatically locked my legs around his waist, staring at him, slightly shocked. I was having trouble believing that I’d let him do that, but I certainly had.

When he was satisfied that I was comfortably settled on him he turned around and waded back to the edge of the pool. That felt so strange, being carried through the water while riding on his cock. It was even stranger when he went up the steps leading out of the pool. Each step he took seemed to grind his cock into me a little bit more, jolting me.

Out of the pool he walked off the concrete surrounding the pool and onto the grass. He was deliberately bouncing me as he walked, sending additional little thrills through me, blast him. Once he was on the grass he stopped and knelt down, tilting me back until I was lying on the grass with him on top of me.

That was what he’d been waiting for. His hands came snaking up to grab hold of my breasts and his cock was pumping into me. His hips started working hard, driving his erection deep, with my hips working just as hard as I pushed up to meet it. As far as I was concerned I was not going to be a supine victim. If I was getting screwed then I’d make sure I did my own measure of screwing. I couldn’t help feeling that it’s a pity men don’t have breasts that I could play with the way Jordan was playing with mine.

With Jordan on me having his fun Brendan decided to come over and sit on the ground next to us, watching us get it on and waiting for his turn (if I permitted it). I promptly had an evil thought. Men may not have breasts that we can grab a hold of but it seemed to me that there was a rather nice erection right there within reach. My hand reached and you should have heard the startled squawk from Brendan when I squeezed him.

I didn’t really have a chance to play with it as Jordan was keeping me fully occupied and most of my attention was on him, making sure that I was keeping up with what he was doing. He was, in my humble opinion, playing games. One moment he’d be belting along, doing everything bar whipping me to get his ride going. The next moment he’s slowing down and we’ve gone from racing horse to a casual donkey ride at the beach. He was doing it deliberately, getting me all worked up and then easing off, extending the amount of time he had to play. And through all this I kept a tight grip on poor Brendan’s cock.

For all his playing around things were advancing. Every time Jordan picked up the pace my excitement rose higher than the previous time and it wasn’t all that long that his slower periods weren’t having any effect. On me, anyway. I was burning, my blood felt as though it was boiling inside me, and it was only a matter of time before I climaxed.

Then I did climax, dropping Brendan’s cock as though it was too hot and jamming my hands against my mouth, stifling any screams. Damned if I was going to make a loud noise and have someone come and see what was going on.

Jordan groaned and rolled off me, collapsing on the grass, totally spent. For his part, Brendan was now rolling me over onto my tummy, lifting my bottom into the air. I let it happen, scrambling onto my knees, so I was head down, bum up, and Brendan advancing.

Poor Brendan was in a bit of a state. My death clutch on his cock and apparently encouraged it to new and greater heights and he was feeling a little constrained, fearing that his balls would burst before he could get into action. It was quite an impressive sigh of relief he gave as his cock slid down my passage. Come to think of it, it was quite an impressive length of cock that came sliding into me.

Brendan didn’t start in on me straightaway. He just held himself firmly in place. A little relieved I think to have his cock so comfortably placed. I waited patiently, quite willing to let him have a bit of me time.

When he felt he was ready he started, moving surprisingly gently. He just pulled back and eased back into me again, as though feeling me out to see how I’d respond. I’d have thought after seeing how Jordan handled me he’d have had a good idea, but maybe he stopped paying attention to us when I gave him something of his own to think about. There again, he could have been feeling himself out to make sure he wasn’t going to explode too early.

I just moved along with him, rocking gently in place. For all his easy going I could feel the excitement building in me again. Not surprising after the performance Jordan gave. If Brendan couldn’t build something with that for a foundation he would have had to give up on women and made a career of masturbation.

After a couple of minutes I could feel Brendan relaxing. Well, as much as any man can relax in this sort of situation. He was gaining in confidence and starting to build up his pace. It wasn’t too long before he was galloping along at a respectable clip, and I was having to work once more to keep up with him.

I was quite happy to just let him get on with things on his own terms. I was almost purring with satisfaction, my excitement building with every thrust. It wasn’t going to be all that long and I’d be good to go again. Being a woman I didn’t even need to try to delay things until the man was ready. That sort of thing was the man’s responsibility. Very soon it was a case of ready or not, here I come.

I climaxed very nicely, thank you. My passage naturally clamped down on Brendan and quite frankly that was more than his poor cock could stand and he also climaxed, ready or not.

Brendan separated from me and collapsed back down onto the grass. I rose back up onto my feet. I was feeling great.

“I am going back into the pool for a quick dip,” I announced. “Then I’m going home.”

With that I turned and slipped into the pool. The cool water washed over me, wiping away my cares and sundry juices that I seemed to have acquired. After a refreshing dip I was out of the water, slipping on my pyjama, and heading homeward. I’d have whistled on my way except for the fact that I can’t whistle.

Brendan and Jordan? They were still sprawled on the grass. I guess they were just waiting for me to go before having their own swim.

By Ashson for Literotica

Amorous Goods: Exorcist Rings

Tenth Amendment — Fri, 12 Jun 2026 19:18:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: Exorcist Rings

Two people fall in love during an Exorcist.

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

3 days ago, Boston suburb of Dorchester

The second worse day of John's life had occurred about a month ago when his cock had turned itself around in the shower one morning and started talking to him using the external urethral opening at the end of his cock as a mouth.

"John, I'm not going to suck myself." John's cock said. "Either you're gonna start finding some women to do it or you will need to learn yoga so you can do it yourself."

"What the hell!" John had screamed.

"Hell is right John, a demon from Hell has possessed your cock. Deal with it." John's cock said.

John had hoped that within a few days the situation would fix itself. He hated going to doctors and this seemed like a medical problem he really didn't want to deal with.

The worse day of John's life was occurring now. Twenty minutes into his Zoom meeting with his corporate headquarters in England and clients in Germany, with over 40 people viewing him on video, his possessed cock had somehow taken over his body.

The demon had forced him to stand bolt upright, work his possessed cock out of his underpants, got his possessed cock to lower his fly from the inside of his pants. Once out, his cock had waved back and forth while it screamed prophesies of the end of the world in English and German at the terrified business people. After nearly five minutes jets of fire had started rocketing from his possessed cock like a mini flame thrower in his pants, setting his work station ablaze.

"Sorry everyone, I think I might be coming down with Covid." John yelled, trying to talk over his cock as it harangued the business people in German with what sounded like a speech from Hitler.

"You need to let the church cut it off and burn it on a pyre of blessed logs." One of the Germans said. "It's the only way to;�

Thankfully at that point he was dropped from the call.

As John worked the fire extinguisher to put out his burning desk he said out loud "Aw man, if this continues I might really have to think about seeing a doctor."

2 days ago, Old South Church, Boston Back Bay district

John had decided to work from his office instead of staying home on covid quarantine. He felt that if his cock was going to start fires it was better to away from his own personal possessions. John had planned on walked to the Boston library from his office on his lunch break. His goal was to find some books that might explain how he could get rid of his cock demon. On the way he had spotted Old South Church. Nearly 150 years old, the Northern Italian Gothic style Church had served generations of Bostonians religious needs. He decided to stop there first as it was on the way.

"Can I help you?" A church employee asked as John entered the holy edifice. Smoke had started rising out of his pants as soon as he had stepped onto the holy ground around the church.

"Nah, I'm good." John said as he quickly walked around the man and made his way to the stone basin in the corner of the room along the wall. "I'm just going to stick my cock in the holy water."

"Stop, what are you doing?" an older woman yelled as she came running up to him. "There's a wedding in progress!"

"Chill out, my cock got possessed." John explained. "I'm going to drowned it in holy water. I don't have time for this today; I have to get back to the office."

John stripped his pants and underwear off and tried to get his genitals into the basin. The basin was deep and set against the wall so try as he might, he could not get his possessed cock into the water. Finally, he settled on dipping his underwear into the water like a sponge then rubbing the wet material against his bloated and turgid member.

His cock responded by shrieking, squealing, and making other high pitched noises like a three month old baby getting its nails clipped before shooting more jets of fire into the pews. "I object to your wedding. I object to your happiness." His cock yelled before screaming at the horrified wedding guests in German.

"You ruined my daughter's wedding you stupid freak." The older woman started crying while she directed terrified wedding guests from the burning church. "Why didn't you cut your possessed wiener off and burn it on a pyre of blessed logs like a normal person; instead of ruining everything for everyone. I'm calling the Holy Inquisition; I hope they kick your ass."

John quickly made his escape, dashing into a crowd of people near the fire trucks that had arrived to fight the blazing holy building.

Yesterday, Dagon church in the Boston Downtown Crossing district

"Father Dagon cannot help you, Jesus cannot help you." The old priest warned. "It is said in the holy bible, 'I have been expelled from Your sight. Nevertheless I will look again toward Your holy temple'. You have been banished from the eyes of the gods for your sins."

"What sins?" John whined. "I called every church in Boston and all of them hung up on me. You burn one church down and are wanted by the Holy Inquisition and suddenly no one wants to help you. It's total bullshit."

"I will tell you of your sins again god, but first you need to give god's messenger money." The old priest nodded sagely, "We don't take credit card anymore."

John quickly handed the priest the $3,000 they had demanded over the phone.

"On talk like a pirate day, back on September 19th, do you remember what you did, it was a Saturday."

"Yeah, I went with my buddy Gary to the bar for his birthday. We got totally drunk, it was a great time."

"Do you remember your blasphemy against the image of the holy spirit?"

"What are you talking about, I went to the bar. I got a little drunk, that's it."

"And there you pissed on a plate of spaghetti, the holy symbol of the holy spirit in his guise as the flying spaghetti monster, on his most holy day."

"What? I was drunk, there was a line for the bathroom. Someone had ordered spaghetti, it was on the table. Yes, I pissed on it, it was funny."

"You think blaspheming god is funny?"

"It was meant as a joke, it was funny."

Well, god didn't find your little joke funny and removed your cock from his sight. Now, it's possessed by demons. The way I see it, you have two options. You can have the Catholic Church amputate your possessed cock and burn it to ash on a pyre of blessed logs. It's outpatient surgery. It's covered by most insurance plans, your only out of pocket would be the $15 copay."

"I'm not paying someone $15 to cut my cock off." John angrily demanded. "What's my other option? And it better be fucking good cause I paid you $3,000."

The priest chuckled. "The other option is Amorous Goods. I talked to them this morning. They agreed to help in exchange for your Bentley. Please bring the title to your car with you tomorrow. Your appointment is at 9am. Be prompt. Here's the address."

"They want my car, forget that." John hissed. "Hey, what's that singing?"

The priest motioned John to the church window overlooking the parking lot. Outside a dozen white panel vans had stopped in the lot. Dozens of nuns of the Holy Inquisition spilled forth. Their black and white head to toe habits hiding their faces as they slowly moved in to surround the building. Singing hymns in praise of god, the butts of their M-16s against their shoulders as they leveled the guns at the church.

"Oh shit." John's cock whimpered fearfully. "It's pirates, don't let them get me!"

The Pastafarians had sent in their paladins as well, holy members of the crimson corsairs of the flying spaghetti monster. One of their members pointed to the window John was looking out of. Her dark pirate overbust corset, red skirt, and knee high black leather pirate boots highlighted her figure as she raised her pirate sword and let out a mighty battle cry.

"You no longer have a car." The priest continued chuckling. "Now run."

Today, Abandon warehouse near Amorous Goods on the outskirts of Boston

"Hi, you must be John, I'm Vicky, and this is Amy." Vicky greeted John as he walked in the door to the abandon warehouse. "Don't worry, Amy's not with the Holy Inquisition. Now please hand over the title to your car and we can get started."

Handing Vicky the title to his car John asked. "What are you going to do to me? Who are you? Who's Amy?"

"Yes, let's do a question and answer session. I'm sure the Holy Inquisition will wait around while we address all your concerns." Amy rolled her eyes and snarked. "Okay, a few weeks ago I slipped this really cute guy in my yoga class a love potion. He was married but I thought he would be much happier with me than his wife. He was cute, well hung, rich, the usual. Turned out his wife was a witch. This bitch's witches coven found me guilty of maleficium, cursed me, and so now my pussy is a gateway to hell."

"Why are you dressed like a nun?" John asked.

Amy did a full turn. Her faux leather vinyl sexy nun costume was skin tight on her firm 5'6" athletic figure. Her blue and black hair shoulder length hair back in a bun under her habit. "It pisses the demons in my pussy off, plus I love how it makes my ass look. Why are you dressed like a nun?"

"My cock demon set my pants on fire again, then I had to beat up these nuns with the Inquisition. Then I stole one of their outfits. Last night was a long night." John sighed.

"Okay you two. I'm a small business owner and my dead uncle was a wizard so I know what I am doing." Vicky broke in addressing the two possessed people.

"What needs to happen is you need to ejaculate your wiener demon into the vortex to hell in your pussy. Please get inside the faraday cage." Vicky hoped this would work this time and the two test subjects would not explode but didn't want to mention to them what had happened to the last two possessed people she had tried helping.

"What? All I needed to do is have sex with this whore and the demon would be gone." John whined.

"I'm not a whore, I'm a yoga instructor, bartender, and teacher martial arts." Amy responded. "What do you do, mug nuns for a living."

"I work in corporate finance, I'll be senior desk for capital structuring and investment decisions within two years." John bragged.

"Okay, well, you want me to be a whore huh, okay then, that's a Neiman Marcus watch. Give me your watch." Amy said with a huge grin on her face. "If you don't then let's see how much you like it when the Holy Inquisition cuts your cock off. And get out of that outfit, let me see what you got."

"My watch cost $15,000. I'm not just going;� John started while stripping off the nun's habit he was wearing.

"No, my watch cost $15,000, now take it and your clothes off and get in that cage." Amy said with an angry smile, her nostrils flared out with her barely concealed rage. She was secretly happy with the turn of events. On the downside she was going to be having sex with a crossdressing weirdo five minutes after meeting him on a ratty, piss-stained mattress in some cage in an abandon building but with Covid she had learned to take what she could get when she could get it. On the plus side, he was well muscled and a dongoloid Ryan Reynolds look-a-like, not really much chest hair but nice abs.

As she crawled in after him she grabbed his scrotum and gave it a playful tug. She smiled a little when he screamed and tried to pull away.

"Do you watch Parks and Recreation?" John asked. "You have a weird awkward vibe about you, like Aubrey Plaza."

"Well thanks, that's what I was going for, awkward slutty nun. Yeah, she's my favorite on that show. I like her better than Ron Swanson." Amy said, giving John her best weird girl stare.

"I have her movie Life after Beth on DVD, I mean my place got shot up pretty bad by nuns last night, but it should be alright if you wanted to come over and watch it." John started blushing as he asked Amy out.

"It's a hilarious zombie movie." John's cock said.

"Yeah as soon as we're done fucking in this cage I would like that. I love horror movies." Amy smiled back. "Plus, I don't have sex till the third date so you owe me three retroactive dates."

Amy lay on her back on the mattress and John pushed her nun mini skirt up before he slipped his head between her legs. His tongue found her clit and he started licking it in a capital T motion. As she became wet he moved his hand to slip a finger into her. As he did so the gateway to hell inside her pussy opened and the sound of a lighthouse fog horn rang out from between her vaginal lips temporary dazing him with its loud blast.

Amy immediately rolled him over and mounted him. His thick member slid into her, filling her. When his cock demon tried squirting fire, the flames passed harmlessly into the vast chasm of the hell vortex. She grabbed his hand and worked her clit as she bounced on his member. His girth was large but not unpleasantly painful to her delicate slit. Lighting started shooting off the pair as their climax drew near. The hell vortex vibrated wildly as the demon was slowly sucked from John's cock. Amy felt like she was masturbating with a large dildo in her slit and her vibrator set to maximum near her clit.

Suddenly John rolled himself back on top of her. Pinning her to the mattress with his larger frame, he started thrusting into her with strong powerful movements, timing himself perfectly with her wildly bucking hips. She could feel his scrotum, the scrotum she had be playfully tugging only minutes before, slapping against her ass as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

Finally, the demon slipped from John's cock into the hell vortex and he came hard spraying his hot cum deep inside her. Amy felt the warmth soak over her like she had dunked her head under water during a bubble bath at the perfect temperature. The orgasm that followed knocked the breath out of her. As she came to she saw stars in front of her eyes and realized she had left bloody scratch marks down John's chest and back. She wanted to apologize but was to out of breath to form words. Finally she got enough strength to roll on to her side only to be hit with another wave of orgasmic bliss, sending her into another round of mini convulsions.

Finally John wrapped her in his nun outfit and gently carried her from the cage.

"Okay you two." Vicky said. "Here's a pair of magic anti-demon rings, each of you need to wear one and have sex with each other once or twice a week for the next month. That should be enough time for the hell gate to permanently close with the demon firmly trapped within."

"Amy, I know that must have been so hard for you, the rest of the times will likely be just as intense just minus the lightning bolts shooting out of your asses. If you need to back out, we will come up with a plan B." Vicky explained, rubbing her hand over the exhausted woman's forehead.

"Once or twice a day." Amy weary replied. "We will be doing that at least once or twice a day. How long till the pussy gate closes for good and that never happens again?"

Vicky was unsure if she should respond. Finally she explained "You two are kind of soul locked, that will always happen if you have sex with him. I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Amy gasped, still fighting to get her breath back.

Epilogue, Old South Church, Boston Back Bay district

Two years had passed since John and Amy had met. The anti-demon rings had been replaced with engagement rings. The wedding had to be kept small thanks in part to the Covid vaccine causing the occasional uncontrollable diarrhea rage zombie outbreaks.

The wedding had gotten almost half way done when a naked man kicked in the door. He ran to the basin of holy water and tried to stick his cock in. His cock shrieked in panic, then started singing the greatest disco hits from the 70's while spraying fire into the pews.

The two love birds were able to say "I do." before the smoke forced them to flee the building. John was able to slip a business card for Amorous Goods into the naked man's hand as he ran pass, dozens of pirates and nuns in hot pursuit.

To be continued, in the series, Amorous Goods; a collaborative storyline for Literotica

Amorous Goods: The Pendant of Min

Tenth Amendment — Thu, 11 Jun 2026 18:45:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: The Pendant of Min

He just couldn't believe she could ever cheat.

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

As painful as the scene on the computer screen was, Trevor Duncan couldn't look away. Part of the reason was he still couldn't believe his eyes, even though he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was authentic. Still, he was looking for some clue, some sign that it wasn't as it seemed. The other reason was Trevor felt utterly defeated and that he had already lost the most important thing in his life. He hurt so much emotionally, maybe piling on the pain would eventually get him to the point that he'd be numb to it; like a an emotional callous.

The video was obviously shot from a phone set up ahead of time to capture the action on the bed. Trevor didn't recognize the bedroom at all, but knew exactly where and when it was. He also recognized the very attractive woman, lying on the bed half-naked with her legs spread, while a man lied with his head between him.

"Oh God, you eat pussy so good," Larissa Duncan purred as she squirmed with her feet on the man's shoulders, while one hand played with the hair of the man pleasuring her. The other hand was working to free her tits from her C-cup bra. Once it did, she started playing with both nipples. "Fuck, fuck...I'm cumming;�

The man chuckled as Larissa trembled and then pushed his head away.

"Enough foreplay, I need a cock in me," Larissa said in a breathless voice as she tossed her bra on the ground, and wiggled out of her long blue dress that was bunched at her waist.

"Do I get a choice of where it goes?" said the deep voice of Hunter McPhillip.

As horrible as what Larissa was doing in the video, the 'who' made it even worse. Trevor and Hunter were both professors of English Literature at Gradestone University. They hated each other at first sight when Trevor started at GU five years prior. Hunter was arrogant, but lazy. He barely made his quota every year for scholarly publications and majority of it was derivative with his focus being ancient folklore. Trevor published numerous articles and several books on the effect of attitudes towards sexuality on popular culture as represented in literature. Locally, he was called Dr. Erotic because of his most popular book dealing with the 'Fifty Shades' phenomenon.

"Oh, I think I know what you mean," Larissa said in a sultry tone on the video as she moved towards Hunter, who was now standing by the edge of the bed naked with his five-inch erection poking out underneath his beer gut. "Okay, for eating me so good, you deserve a little treat, but you're fucking my pussy, mister. I can't get pregnant by swallowing."

With a look of pure joy and lust, Larissa took him in his mouth and began sucking his cock as enthusiastically as she'd ever done to Trevor. He did get blowjobs, but maybe once or twice a month. She used her hand to stroke, as she licked right down to the toad's hairy balls, which she took in her mouth in turn. Hunter groaned through it like he was in heaven.

"Enough, my pussy needs this cock," Larissa said through her teeth in a lustful sexy voice as she released him and got on her hands and knees facing away from him, "There's nothing I love more than your cock in me. Fuck me, baby, fuck me hard. We've been away from the party for too long as it is. We don't want anyone to notice."

Grabbing her by the hips, Hunter slammed into Trevor's wife with a grunt by both of them. He went straight to jack-rabbiting her doggy style. You could hear the sound of flesh slapping and the jingle of that ugly pendant Hunter wore around his neck at the party.

As he thrust, Hunter spoke in a breathless voice to obviously taunt Trevor more. "You love this cock more than all others? Don't you baby? Say it?"

"Oh, fuck;� squealed Larissa, "I love this cock more than anything. It's the only one I ever want till I die."

"You don't just want to be fucked. You want me to cum deep in you and make you pregnant?"

"Oh God, yes, I want your baby." Larissa began panting and shifting like she was close to coming again.

With a grunt, Hunter looked to have finished in her, but then he kept going while Larissa reached to rub herself.

"Yes, just a little more, just a little more. Fuck."

Hunter pulled out and Trevor could clearly see the jizz dripping out of his wife's bald pussy.

"Wow, that was fun. I better get back down there," Hunter said wiping his cock on the blanket.

"Okay, lover," Larissa said in a breathless content voice, "I can't believe we did it here. I better freshen up and I'll see you down there. Hopefully no one suspects anything."

"What if they do?" Hunter said in a smarmy voice as his hand reached towards the camera. "Does it really matter?"

"You're right," giggled Larissa, "God, I love you."

The screen went black and then white text appeared saying, "We waited just for this special night to come into the open about our love. You might have gotten the Dean position, but I got the girl. And hopefully soon, a son. #Winning"

Trevor swore loudly and threw an empty beer can at the screen. It was three days prior that his wife casually admitted she was fucking someone when she disappeared for an hour at the party at the Donald Blune, the university president's house. The party was to announce to faculty and staff that Trevor was replacing Dr. Welsh as Dean of Humanities.

After the brief argument, which caused quite a scene in front of everyone, Trevor went home, grabbed a few things and headed to a motel. His wife, who reeked of sex, had the gall to be mad that his coworkers found out she was fucking someone else with all of them there. Shortly after he checked into his room, he received the video by email.

Trevor and Larissa had been married for twelve years and had Josephina, who was ten. Larissa's pregnancy had been quite difficult with complications requiring an emergency C-section. Another slap in the face was Trevor had hinted several times that he wanted another child, but Larissa refused. Now, here she was happily going to have that toad's? As unattractive as Trevor thought Hunter was, he always seemed to hook up with really attractive women. None as sexy as Larissa, at least until that party. Hunter was a good bullshitter, but Trevor never in his wildest dreams thought his wife would fall for it.

Knowing that half the campus would know he was cuckolded at his own promotion party, Trevor hadn't returned to work. His wife also worked there in financial services as payroll manager - and was well known on campus. A tall leggy brunette with a skinny waist, full tits and a flawless face that always was smiling got noticed. Trevor couldn't stand the thought of seeing people's faces pitying him or snickering behind his back. Trevor knew he had to cool off a bit before making any definite decisions, but he was already looking at professor positions at other colleges. He couldn't see himself remaining at GU with Hunter and Larissa now a couple.

What hurt more than the ending of what Trevor thought a perfect marriage was now he probably would be a part-time parent to Jo. Even with proof of her adultery, Trevor knew it was unlikely that he'd get full custody. With him planning to move out of state, the best he could probably hope for was summer and holidays with her. If he remained in Gradestone, he'd probably get split custody, but again, the thought of being in the same city as the lovers; especially when Larissa started to show, was too unbearable.

There had been some attempts of Larissa or her friends and family to contact him. After her text of, "What's wrong with you? I did nothing to deserve how you treated me," Trevor blocked every way he could think of her contacting him. He even canceled his phone and got an upgrade with a new, unlisted, number in his name only. He felt really bad because he knew how much Jo would be missing her father, but he couldn't see how he could contact her without dealing with Larissa, which he wasn't ready for yet.

Whereas Larrisa came from a big family, three siblings, both parents alive and a couple dozen close cousins, Trevor was basically an orphan. His parents died within a month of each other before he met his wife in college. He had no siblings or other family that he knew about. As well, all the friends he really had in town were 'their friends.' That meant, Trevor felt like he had no real support as he was going through hell.

He was about to watch the video again, when he hesitated, and instead did an internet search. Within twenty minutes, he found a divorce attorney and had a free consult meeting that afternoon.

Horace Derringer was one of those older men who were probably a lot older than they look. The older man looked no more than fifty, but the years on different decorations in his office made him more likely to be over sixty. Still, the man had something about him that commanded respect, which gave Trevor a lot of confidence in him.

Before the meeting, Trevor sent a copy of the email to him, warning him it was graphic. Horace chuckled and said in all his years handling divorces, he'd seen everything.

"Well, Mr. Duncan, I guess I do owe you an apology," Horace said, "You said this video was filmed at your promotion party? And your wife came down immediately after and admitted it, and then her lover sends the video to taunt you further? That's something I've never seen before. Of course, I will have a forensic video expert go through it carefully; both for authenticity and any details which could help either or your wife's case."

"Well, she didn't just come down and admit it," Trevor said, "the fact she disappeared and missed the president announcing my promotion, and I could just tell she had sex. I mean, you could practically smell it on her and how her hair and clothes were. I was completely shocked and asked her point blank if she just had sex. She said, 'duh, of course I did.' That's when I raised my voice and asked who. She looked at me like it was a stupid question and said that I knew. I said I didn't and demanded she tell me who she just fucked loud enough for everyone to hear. That's when everyone started looking at us and she got mad at me for letting everyone know and asked me if I was going crazy."

"She seemed pretty lucid in the video, which is surprising. I expected some sign of her intoxicated or under the effects of some narcotic," stated the attorney.

Trevor shrugged. "It was a dry party and besides caffeine, I don't think Larissa has touched any recreational drug in the past ten years. I used to smoke and still drink occasionally, but she is a health freak."

Horace shook his head. "Wow, I'm sorry Mr. Duncan, but that should give us grounds for mental cruelty - how they rubbed their affair in your face. Do you have any idea how long it was going on?"

"I have absolutely no clue because there were zero signs. You heard them talking. It had to be over a period of time, but she completely deceived me. Everything about our relationship was great. Active sex life, went on regular dates, we even ate all three meals together most days because we both worked at the university. There's been no change at all until she came down from that bedroom after my promotion was announced."

"She was talking about getting pregnant. Was there a change in your family planning?"

Trevor sighed. "I got snipped five years ago because my wife had a rough pregnancy and didn't want to risk something happening. Since she's not on any birth control, it would be easy for her to plan to get knocked up by her lover behind my back.

Horace nodded and cleared his throat. "Okay, well I definitely would be glad to represent you. Now, these proceedings always have some level of unpredictability, but I can safely give you some good and bad news ahead of time."

"Okay."

"Since you are planning to move out of state, no way you're getting split custody and it would be a long shot to get full. Now, if there were signs of mental stability, that would be different. I'm sorry, but I don't see that. The court will just see a woman who fell in love with another man to the point that she cruelly rejected her current spouse. And with us being a no-fault state, with no pre-nup, your assets will be split and you'll probably be paying some child support based on your comparative earnings."

Trevor blinked. "I'm sorry, what is the good news?"

"You strike me as an intelligent man, which is why this is so hard on you," Horace shook his head sadly. "You aren't used to be tricked and these two really pulled the wool over your eyes. I'm sure you knew financially, there was no way you were coming out on top in divorce proceedings. The good news is this will not be drawn out. With your wife actively trying to conceive with another man and admitting it in front of witnesses, no judge will be recommending counseling to try and reconcile even if she suddenly has a big change of heart. You'll still be connected by your daughter of course, but you will be free of your wife. And, we can stipulate that a neutral person be the contact for matters about her, and transport her between visits. In other words, you won't be forced to interact with your ex-wife."

Trevor nodded. "I guess that's as good as news I can hope for. I have no intention of speaking to her again."

"Sorry, I meant after the divorce proceedings. You two will still need to be present during the process. And since, it might take a month or more to get the ball rolling, I'm sure you won't want to be away from your daughter for that long. You will be free of her eventually. I recommend just keep your feelings in check and don't do anything stupid; like knocking anyone's teeth in."

"I'd never strike my wife. I've hardly yelled at her," Trevor said sounding offended.

"I meant your soon-to-be-ex-wife's lover. That video could trigger a physical response from you, and that could be used to deny you access to your daughter. That could be why they sent it to you - a trick I have seen before. My advice, besides hiring me, is find a third party you both trust to get a message to your wife that you aren't ready to see her, but want to see your daughter. For there to be any chance of full custody, it has to look like you're still wanting to actively be her father."

"Of course I actively want to be her father," Trevor snapped, but Horace barely reacted.

"Yes, so I'm recommending you do something that you want to do already."

Trevor didn't feel any better after the meeting, but he did officially hire Horace to start getting ready to have Larissa served by the start of the following week. He was already thinking of how to connect with Jo without having to deal with Larissa.

Horace's advice of a neutral go-between crossed his mind, but he couldn't see many people he'd trust, worried that they probably would be more on Larissa's side. In the end, he decided on the Balloys. Jeff and Marjorie were parents of Teaghan, who was Jo's best friend in school. Larissa and Marjorie had hit it off right away and became really good friends. Over the last couple years, the families had gone camping together and even on vacation to California. Trevor wasn't as close to Jeff as Larissa was to Marjorie, but he trusted them; especially when it came to his daughter.

Trevor had all his contacts from his old phone, though with many numbers blocked just in case. He was about to call Jeff, but knew it he'd probably end up talking to Marjorie anyway.

She picked up on the first ring.

He didn't even finish saying 'Hello' when she interrupted. "Trevor, is that you? Where are you? Everyone is worried sick. Larissa even went to the police, but they wouldn't consider you a missing person because they thought you left her."

"They aren't wrong. I did leave her."

"What?" shrieked Marjorie, "How could you do that? Both of them have been crying nonstop. How the fuck could you do that? Is it another woman?"

"Quit yelling and I'll tell you the full story," Trevor said firmly.

She mumbled a few more swear words and then angrily said, "Fine."

"I'm guessing that Larissa didn't tell you the whole story."

"Only that out of nowhere you cruelly humiliated her for no reason and was acting crazy at your boss's house."

Trevor snorted. "That's rich. I humiliated her? I'm sorry to speak ill of your good friend, but what happened is my once loving wife suddenly disappeared from the party. I did try to find her and asked around, but I had to stop looking because the president was about to make the big announcement of my promotion. The promotion that was the whole reason why there was a party in the first place. They made the announcement, I gave my speech, and still no sign of my wife. A fact that wasn't lost on all our co-workers present. When I was finally free to look, I found her looking and smelling like she just had sex; obviously not with me."

"What? I don't believe it."

"Oh, it's true. In fact, she casually admitted it like it was no big deal. She only got upset when I demanded she tell me who she fucked."

"That, that does not sound like Risa at all," Marjorie said in a softer voice.

"What I thought so as well. Then I get an email from her lover, Hunter fucking McPhillip, with the full video of them fucking and discussing their plans to have his baby."

"Trevor, that can't be right. It has to be fake. There's no way;� Marjorie started.

"I could smell him on her. There's no way she didn't fuck him. And the worse thing is," Trevor paused to compose himself before continuing, "Is how they talked like it had been going on for a while. She said she loved him. The video claims that they planned it from the beginning to announce on my special night that she was now with him."

"I-I-I don't know what to say," said Marjorie sounding a little shaken, "If that really happened, it makes sense you wanting some space. All I know is Risa is not acting like a woman ready to leave her husband for another man. She is physically ill worrying about you and claims to have no idea why you ran off. She's been calling hospitals worrying that you had a brain tumor that caused this."

"Maybe she's the one with the tumor. I won't put you through seeing the video unless you really want to, but I swear it's real." Trevor sighed. "Look, Marjorie, the reason I'm calling is about Jo. I really miss her and want to see her, but I'm not ready to face Larissa. Not yet. I trust you and Jeff completely with my daughter's welfare. Can you please contact my wife and convince her to let you arrange me spending some time with my daughter? I'm not going to say a word about why we're divorcing. I just need to see her."

"Wow, I don't know what to say," Marjorie said, "Of course, I'll help you see Jo. She's as bad as Risa is right now. I'm sorry, I am just in shock she'd do something like that. I mean, how she talks about you when it's just us. She absolutely gushes about you."

"Well, I guess she changed her mind. Thanks Marjorie. Please say hi to Jeff for me and I'll await your call. It can be anytime. I'm giving my two week notice to quit work and on leave for two weeks."

After he got off the phone, Trevor started writing an email to Dr. Blune giving him the heads up that he was quitting. As the university president was a couple yards away from the confrontation between him and Larissa, Trevor didn't expect him to be surprised. The only silver lining was that Trevor wasn't currently teaching any courses, so there was only a single research project tha

Amorous Goods: The Mayor's Wife & A New Beginning

Tenth Amendment — Wed, 10 Jun 2026 20:48:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: The Mayor's Wife

How did Morgana recover the lingerie?

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

A lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left the entire collection and the business built around them to his only remaining relative, a distant niece on a career path of her own as an archivist. Vikki has taken on the task of administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However, she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. These are the stories of some of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods.

From The Three Monkeys episode, In Chapter Four we learned;

The Mayor's wife wanted to give her husband a special reward for winning his latest election. She enlisted the help of her friend, the Sheriff's wife, whose husband had also been re-elected. Because both men had run on law and order platforms and had made much of their success in getting hookers off the streets of their small, family-friendly town, the two town matrons decided it would be funny and fun to give their husbands a bawdy weekend in the big city. They would tell the men to meet them at a swank hotel for a supposedly normal celebration and then surprise them by acting like their own high-priced call girls.

The ladies wanted the proper attire, but didn't want to be seen buying it in their own town. So, they went into the city a day early, telling their husbands honestly that they would have one girls' day of shopping before their husbands came for two days of celebrating their re-elections; out of the public eye of the people who'd elected them.

So, Mrs. Mayor and Mrs. Sheriff did end up finding the costumes they wanted in a shop in the Big City. Unfortunately, the costume shop had gotten them from Amorous Goods before Vikki had learned about their enchantment.

You can easily imagine what could go wrong for a couple of horny women who suddenly put on magic corsets and stockings and begin playing Call Girl.

It's up to Vikki, her cousin Dylan, and especially their expert in enchanted erotica, Morgana Delacroix, to step in and save the mayor's and sheriff's wives from turning a lively fantasy into a life-changing reality.

And now,

Amorous Goods: The Mayor's Wife

In the Big City: Chapter Four And A Half

The Amorous Goods team watched the elevator numbers close in on their goal, the fifth floor of the Grand Sheraton, one of the most upscale hotels in the city. Amorous Goods' owner, Vikki Friday, her cousin and business partner, Dylan Ventura, and their mentor, the witch Morgana Delacroix, had managed to track their targets to this hotel. And by using her considerable charms on a desk clerk, Morgana had gotten their room numbers.

The elevator bell dinged, the doors slid open and the three people from AG, short for Amorous Goods; stepped out, but then stopped in their tracks. Incredibly, the two women they were seeking were right there in front of them. More incredibly, they were wearing the enchanted lingerie sets that Vikki and the others were actually looking for. Most incredibly, the two middle-aged women in underwear were surrounded by four fully-dressed middle-aged men and it looked like the six of them were starting to have group sex right there in the hallway of the hotel.

Morgana turned to her two young companions and whispered, "Hotel security." Then she turned back and confidently stepped in between the men and the scantily clad women. With just her physical presence, she swiftly separated the two groups. The men, who were all wearing ball caps with logos like Ford and Chevy, were clearly attending the muscle car show at the nearby convention center.

Dylan quickly picked up on Morgana's intent and followed her lead. He also took up a place between the men and the women, but facing the men. "Gentlemen," he said gravely. "We're with hotel security and we've heard there might be a few women around the hotel looking to, um, 'find work' with some of our guests." The car guys were stunned into silence.

Vikki caught on and stepped in. "You see, we work undercover, dressed like regular hotel guests. But we're always on the lookout for, shall we say, activities that don't really belong in a nice hotel like ours."

The men suddenly came alive and began speaking over one another.

"What?" "But we weren't..." "What are you going to do?"

Confident that Vikki and Dylan had the conventioneers well in hand, Morgana smiled broadly at the two would-be whores in front of her. "Ladies," the hot witch purred as she spread her arms wide to put a hand on each woman's outside shoulder, "may I say how wickedly lovely you two look?"

The looks on the women's faces had been quickly shifting from the passion of being felt up in public by strange men, to the concern of having been caught by some kind of hotel detectives. Now they began shifting back. The beautiful black-haired woman's compliment was clearly sincere, her voice was a bedroom growl, and somehow her light touch on their shoulders felt as arousing as if she'd clasped their pussies. Pussies that were already wet and ready for action.

"Why don't we go down to your room," the enchantress continued, "so you don't get caught up in any of this little mess? And you can tell me about these wonderful outfits." With just the slightest pressure on their shoulders, both women turned inwards and Morgana's arms went behind them, firmly shepherding them down the hall.

Morgana found Mrs. Mayor's key card tucked into the waistband of her garter belt and smoothly slid it into the room lock as soon as they reached the door. It had only taken a matter of seconds for her to spirit the two bewitched town matrons from the crowded hallway into the privacy of a simple, but nice suite.

The women, confused and excited, stopped in the short entry hall and turned to watch this incredible stranger. After closing the door, Morgana gave them another enticing smile and strode forward. Stepping directly between the two and grabbing a hand of each as she went, she pulled them behind her into the main room. When she got to the large sofa she released their hands, spun around and sat.

"Show me," she said simply, but firmly.

Both the buxom woman and the lanky one knew what she meant and both struck a provocative pose, just as they'd been doing for each other just minutes before in the hotel hallway. Neither could remember ever feeling so attractive and so confident in their sexiness as when they'd put on their luxurious but naughty lingerie.

"No wonder all those men wanted you," Morgana crooned.

"They were going to pay us, too," the woman in the tight bustier said proudly.

Morgana wondered what her husband, the sheriff in a small suburb town not far from the one where the Amorous Goods mansion was located, would think about his wife bragging about her success at selling her body. "Were you going to give the money to your husband? Tell him he was your pimp?" she asked provocatively.

That seemed to catch up Mrs. Sheriff and she went still. But her companion in red closed the gap between them, put one hand along the side of her friend's neck and the other directly on the cleavage formed by the squeezing together of the woman's small tits.

"The mayor and the sheriff not only using call girls," the chubby MILF said to the skinny one, "but actually pimping them out to other men." The excitement in her voice was palpable and now Morgana knew what their original plan had been and how it had led to their current predicament. Though they still didn't realize they had a predicament.

"You're going to be call girls for your husbands? That is a sexy game," the green-eyed beauty cooed.

Mrs. Sheriff looked deep into Mrs. Mayor's eyes as she reveled in the feeling of her friend's hand pressing her tits through the lace. "Pimping us out to other men," she repeated, as she felt her pussy juices flow. She'd never pursued this line of fantasy before, but now she suddenly wondered if the car show guys were still out in the hall.

Morgana could practically see the thoughts in the woman's face, the enchanted garments were certainly doing their job of enhancing and amplifying the women's deepest fantasies. She got to her feet and moved in until the three were in a tight group. "That is a very sexy fantasy," she said. "But maybe one that should be kept among us girls? Are you sure your main clients would like the idea of following after a bunch of other guys?"

The women realized that by main clients, the stranger meant their husbands and it made them stop and think. "She's right," the mayor's wife said, with a touch of disappointment. "My Craig's jealousy would probably outweigh his excitement in giving me sloppy seconds -- or fourths or fifths, for that matter," she added with a laugh. "And your Jim's way too butch to share."

"On the other hand," Morgana said as she stroked each woman's cheek, "what would they think about you having a female customer just ahead of taking them on?" She kissed Mrs. Sheriff lightly on the lips and then did the same to Mrs. Mayor.

"A female customer?" whispered Mrs. Sheriff. She smelled an earthy musk with a touch of incense, but didn't realize it was coming from the undergarments she'd bought earlier that day. If she'd known to ask, Morgana could have told her it was a sign that the charm on the garments was heating up, searching to see if the idea of being with another woman was among her fantasies so that it could strengthen the idea and make it seem the right thing to do.

"They'd love it," declared Mrs. Mayor. Then she added in a more derisive tone, "Yes indeed, Craig would love to watch me eat a cunt. But do you think he'd suck a cock for me?"

"Hell, no!" the two friends said together and all three women laughed.

Morgana kissed both women lightly again, but this time in their cleavages. "And what would they think about you hiring a call girl for yourselves?" she asked. She bent and kissed the tops of each pair of tits more deeply.

"We'd be the 'Johns'. Or maybe the 'Janes'," giggled the sheriff's wife.

"If we let a woman hire us we could be faking our desire for her," the mayor's wife mused. "But if we hired a woman..."

"We'd really have to want to enjoy her charms," the MILF in black said, completing the sentence. She reached behind the beautiful stranger's head and pulled her back to her chest.

Morgana grabbed Mrs. Sheriff's small tits tightly and ran the flat of her tongue wetly up and down the small cleavage. Suddenly she raised her head and looked at the woman, but without giving up her grip on her boobs.

"Wait a minute!" she said with fake shock. "I thought you were the call girls? Are you saying I should be one for you?"

She turned to look at Mrs. Mayor who was handling her own big boobs as they spilled over the top of her crimson corset. The witch moved her hands from the small tits to the big ones. "Are you saying you want me to do this for you?" She squeezed and kneaded the soft melons. "Are you saying you want me to be your whore?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Mayor as she held up one of her tits and squeezed it so the big nipple jutted towards Morgana's mouth.

After sucking and nibbling on the thick nub for a while, Morgana straightened. She saw that Mrs. Sheriff had shed her loose, flimsy dressing gown and peeled down the cups of her bustier so she could play with her own tits. Pretty rough play, noted Amorous Good's resident sex expert. She reached out and took hold of one of each woman's nipples and squeezed and twisted them.

"When are your husbands supposed to be here?" she asked.

"Not until tomorrow," answered Mrs. Mayor.

"Call them and tell them to come now," the Delacroix Witch said.

Both women's eyes went wide. "Now?" one said.

"It will take them a while to get here, won't it?" The other one nodded. "Then you'll have time to enjoy your lady whore before you get to be whores for your favorite cocks. We're going to have a very good time together, but in the end, it's cock you really want the most. Isn't it?"

The sheriff's wife was nearly desperate to get her mouth between this stunning woman's thighs, but at the same time she knew the stranger was right. What would be even better than eating the woman's sweet cunt, would be having a cock fucking her hard from behind at the same time. "Sybil," she said to her partner in lust. "Where's your phone?"

Mrs. 'Mayor', Sybil, looked around for her purse, found it on the small dining table, and pulled out her phone. "What should I say?" she asked, her thumb poised over her husband's speed dial number.

Morgana said, "Don't call, text." She walked over to where Sybil stood and while looking directly into her eyes, she stripped off the crimson corset. Then she took the phone from the woman's hands, stepped back and aimed the camera lens at her. "Hold them up," she directed. Sybil lifted her hefty tits and Morgana snapped the picture. Then she typed something into the message app and handed the phone back to the increasingly excited woman.

Mrs. Mayor read, your whore can't wait, come now. room 517. She looked absolutely wanton in the attached photo. A wicked smile spread across Sybil's face as she hit Send.

Morgana took the phone back and stepped over to Mrs. Sheriff. "Now you," she said.

"But it will be coming from Sybil's phone."

"That will only make it more exciting for him, Betty," Sybil said as she walked closer. "He'll think about me taking the photo of you and wonder what that means."

Morgana finished removing the bustier from around the thin woman's waist and threw it over to where Sybil's corset lay. "But it will actually be your own personal whore who took it, Betty," she said while gazing into the woman's wide eyes. "And you and Sybil can decide later if you tell them about your call girl or keep that as a special secret between yourselves.

"Now," she continued, "pull those nipples out far, let him know what you want."

Mrs. Sheriff actually blushed. How did this woman know that she secretly desired to have her tits treated roughly? She'd never even been able to tell her husband.

"Do it, Betty," said Sybil. "It's about time for him to give you what you want."

Betty cupped her hands under her small tits and pinched each nipple between thumb and middle finger. She pulsed them tightly three or four times, then pulled the pink nubs out until the skin of her tits was clearly stretched. Her face turned up to the ceiling, eyes closed and mouth open in passionate pain. Morgana's own cunny twitched as she snapped the hot photo.

As she typed in the same message, Morgana asked, "What room number?"

"517," came the answer from behind her.

Morgana looked into Betty's eyes again, silently asking if she agreed with Sybil's instructions to bring both men to the same room. The slender woman nodded. The AG witch typed it in and handed the phone to Mrs. Sheriff so she could enter her husband's phone number. The woman's eyes shone when she saw the photo of herself and then she also hit Send.

"What now?" the thin blonde asked.

Morgana cupped the woman's black-silk-covered crotch. "Now we see if your bush is as full as your girlfriend's."

As Betty "Sheriff's" eyes automatically tracked to the thick mass of dark brown hair between Sybil "Mayor's" thighs, Morgana pivoted around her hip, never taking her hand off Betty's cunt as she moved behind her so she could also gaze at the buxom brunette's furry crotch.

Sibyl was thrilled by the attention. After taking two steps closer to her friend and their mysterious 'call girl', she stopped and then stepped her right foot out to the side, spreading her legs. "Do you like?" she asked coyly.

"I want to feel that hair rubbing against my nose, cheeks and lips as my tongue drills down to your pink center."

"Yes," the mayor's wife replied boldly. "I want you to work for it; to fight your way through to the hidden treasure at the heart of the jungle."

"Will it be just as much of an adventure to find your treasure?" Morgana whispered into Betty's ear as her hands moved to the waistband of the black panties that had been pulled up outside the garter belt suspenders. "Let's see."

And with that she dropped to her knees behind the blonde, peeling the underpants down as she went. When the undies hit the floor, Morgana quickly knee-walked around until she was in front of the woman. A woman who was suddenly on the edge of shock from an adrenaline rush of excitement.

Betty, who had woken up this morning simply intending to live out a mildly kinky fantasy, now found herself with an amazingly beautiful woman kneeling in front of her. Looking at her exposed crotch. Her newly, very exposed crotch. Meanwhile, her closest friend Sybil stood just feet away with her fingers buried in her own thick bush.

"Ooh," purred the kneeling woman. "You've gone the whole other way haven't you? But so pretty." And with that, the raven-haired beauty leaned in and planted a gentle kiss on Betty's naked vulva. It made the middle-aged housewife's legs tremble so much that she stumbled backwards the two steps to the sofa and sat on its front edge. Morgana followed on hands and knees, a panther stalking her prey. "Spread," she said when she reached Betty and the sheriff's wife opened her legs wide.

"Oh, you shaved!" gasped Sybil. She'd followed behind the exotic stranger as she crawled to the sofa and was now staring over the woman's shoulder. She'd seen Betty's crotch incidentally while changing at the gym, so she'd expected to see the normal patch of silky, light-brown hair. More closely trimmed than her own healthy bush, but still, covering all the pink. Instead, she saw just a small triangle of hair sitting at the top of her friend's mons. And below it? A beautiful, pink seashell. At least, that's what came to mind as she gazed on the delicate inner lips just poking out from the blonde's pale outer lips. She only caught a quick glimpse, however, because suddenly their whore's head was blocking the view.

"Oh," came the guttural sigh from Betty's throat as the stranger lavished a much harder kiss on the pretty pink treasure she'd uncovered between Mrs. Sheriff's legs. Not usually that vocal or aggressive in her lovemaking, Betty found herself commanding the woman to do more.

"Yes, kiss it, kiss it hard! Now lick it, get your tongue inside me. I know I'm already wet, can you taste me?"

Morgana could taste her and it was very nice. But she still had a mission to complete. So, while she gave this bewitched woman the best cunnilingus Betty had ever had, her hands quickly moved to unsnap the garter from the stockings. That done, the silk stockings were efficiently rolled down to the blonde's feet. In a side thought, Morgana realized that the spell that had made this lingerie set such a powerful aphrodisiac, had clearly also made each piece both flexible and robust. There was not a single snag or run in the stockings, although many women had worn them over the years in equally passionate situations. And they had fit this almost too-skinny woman perfectly. The witch had no doubt that if she put them onto her own much more powerfully curved gams, they would fit just as well. God, she loved good magic.

There was just one more piece to go, the garter belt, and Morgana knew she'd have no problem slipping it over Betty's hips. But she decided to wait for the coup de grace. The hold of the spell was weakening with each piece that came off,

Amorous Goods: The Cameo Pendant Part 2 & True Love's Path

Tenth Amendment — Tue, 09 Jun 2026 20:45:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: The Cameo Pendant � Part 2

Holly becomes the Cameo Exhibitionist tease.

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

On Sunday when Holly was getting ready to meet Chloe and Lisa for lunch she wanted to wear something fun and picked out a dark red strapless tube dress. Holly wore the pendant, having dismissed that it could be the cause of her strange behavior.

On the other side of the restaurant was a group of five guys, they were a little loud but not obnoxious. When they noticed Holly and her friends they called out a greeting and paid them compliments but they kept their behavior respectful and didn't start bothering them. Throughout lunch one or two of the guys would look over and if they made eye contact would smile and wave.

Holly enjoyed the attention from the guys and Chloe and Lisa seemed to like it as well. They ended up making a game of it where one of them would jokingly tease the guys by sitting in a way that showed some leg or cleavage. Holly got really into the game and forgot her concerns about her exhibitionist behavior, Holly could feel herself getting a little hot and felt the urge to push the game further.

The next time it was Holly's turn she kept an eye on the guys and when one of them looked toward Holly and her friends again she quickly pulled her top down and flashed her tits at him. The guy's reaction was extremely gratifying, he went dead still and his eyes were wide and staring. After a few seconds Holly pulled her top back up over her tits. No one else in the restaurant appeared to have seen Holly flash. The guy's eyes then moved up to meet Holly's and she put a finger against her lips to signal him to stay quiet. The guy grinned and and gave her a thumbs up before turning back to his oblivious friends' conversation.

When Holly turned back to Chloe and Lisa she saw they had been watching her and they were stunned by what she had done. Chloe leaned forward and lowered her voice, "Holy shit Holly, I can't believe you just flashed that guy!" Chloe sounded impressed that Holly could be so daring. Lisa too was impressed, "Wow, I never expected you to do something like that. You've never been that comfortable with being seen naked, you're like a new person now."

Holly flushed with a combination of arousal and embarrassment at her friend's praise. Lisa's comments in particular got Holly thinking, it was true that she had never been comfortable with nudity in public places. Even when she was trying on clothes with friends she would always go to another room to change. The recent acceptance and even urge for her body to be seen was really outside her character. Despite the absurdity of it Holly could only think that the pendant had in some way changed her.

When Holly got home she immediately took the pendant off and resolved to go to Amorous Goods and see if she could get any detail of what was going on with the pendant.

On Monday when midday came around Holly headed straight to Amorous Goods, hoping that Vikki would be there alone as she didn't think she could talk about her experiences and concerns if Dylan was there. To Holly's relief the store was empty except for Vikki who was sitting behind the counter reading what looked to be a comic book. When Vikki looked up a flash of recognition went across her face but she didn't seem surprised to see Holly again.

"Hi, welcome back. Is there something I can help you with?"

Holly wasn't sure where to begin but Vikki's expression of patient expectation helped ease Holly's anxiety about sounding like a nutcase.

"Well, is there anything you could tell me about where the pendant I bought came from?"

Vikki gave Holly a considered look before replying.

"I don't mean to avoid your question but I need to know something before I can give you an answer. Has there been any out of character behavior from you or people around you?"

Holly flushed as her recent exhibitionist escapades came to mind and nodded, "Err yes, I've done some odd things recently."

Vikki followed up with another question, "Were those things sexual in nature?"

Holly's flush got even deeper, and she couldn't bring herself to speak so she just nodded.

In return Vikki nodded in confirmation, "The name of this store isn't just some attempt at fancy marketing. Amorous Goods is an apt description of pretty much everything in the store."

Seeing the look of confusion on Holly's face, Vikki pressed on. "The items in this store through some means, usually enchantment or spiritual imprinting, have some kind of sexual effect on people. What the effect is and who it affects are different for each item but for the things in this store, the effects all relate to sex in some way."

Holly didn't fully get what Vikki was saying but she got the gist of it, "So you're saying the pendant is responsible for the way I've been acting?"

Vikki hesitated for a moment, "I can't say for certain but most likely yes."

This was a bit much for Holly to process. it was one thing to suspect that an object might be affecting you but it was another thing altogether to be told point blank that the object was enchanted or ... what was the other thing Vikki had said?

"Spiritual imprinting?" Holly frowned and then her eyes went wide as she realised what that meant. "Are you saying that the pendant is haunted and I've been possessed?"

Vikki shrugged, "It's possible. When you've worn the pendant, has there been any instances where you haven't felt like yourself or where you feel like you didn't have control over what you were doing?"

Holly shook her head.

"Have you been seeing things in the corner of your eye that weren't really there or been hearing inaudible whispering?"

Holly shook her head again, "No."

"Well I think that rules out haunting, the pendant most likely has some kind of enchantment on it."

Holly frowned, not sure if that made anything better, "If you know that this stuff does weird things to people, why are you selling it?"

Vikki grimaced, "A distant relative of mine passed away and left me the store." Vikki gestured at their surroundings, "It's a nice place but this isn't what I want to do with my life. There's too much for me to just keep it in storage. I guess I could have just dumped everything at the tip but even with their strange quirks that would have been a waste."

Vikki saw that Holly was unconvinced, "I know a person who has a professional interest and experience in dealing with 'special items'. She examined all of the items in the store and she said there wasn't anything here that was overly dangerous. These items are more about influencing behavior, if someone is mindful of what they're doing and how they normally act they can tell whether they're being affected."

Holly thought for a moment, "So you think that since I know that the pendant is trying to make me do things I can stop myself from doing them. If that's the case, why didn't you tell me that that the pendant would turn me into some kind of sex pervert?"

Vikki raised her eyebrows, "Would you have believed me if I had?"

Holly sighed and shook her head, "No. Even now I'm still finding it hard to accept that magic is actually a thing."

"If you find you don't want to keep the pendant, bring it back before the end of the month and I'll give you a refund."

Holly nodded, "Thanks Vikki, I'll think it over."

During the rest of the day Holly thought about what Vikki told her. Part of Holly still found the idea that items could be enchanted or haunted to be unreal, but the earnest way Vikki had explained it was very convincing. It was both comforting and creepy that Holly's desire to show herself off was caused by the pendant. Holly didn't think she was all that bothered by her exhibitionism but not knowing why it had started had been deeply concerning.

When Holly got home that night, she spent some time studying the pendant. She didn't get any kind of vibes from it but then again how would she tell if she was being influenced by it or not. Holly wanted to know just how much of an effect the pendant had on her.

The following day Holly decided to not wear the pendant and chose her clothes with deliberate care to avoid being revealing but without reverting back to the highly conservative way she used to dress.

As the day went on nothing of note happened. When Holly talked with her male co-workers they were friendly but there didn't seem to be the same kind of spark of interest. Holly knew that was in part due to her being a little more withdrawn and self aware of how she was behaving. There didn't seem to be many interested glances from people she walked by or saw on the train either. Maybe Holly just wasn't aware of it but it seemed to her that she had gone back to not being noticed.

When Holly got home she felt a little flat, it had been a typical normal day at work but for Holly normal was dull. Without the frisson of excitement she got from getting attention or showing off there had been nothing to liven up the day. Holly knew that if she wanted to she could dress in revealing clothes and show herself off without the pendant. Holly still enjoyed getting attention and didn't think that exhibitionism was wrong. The problem for Holly was whether her desires were her own or if they were caused by the pendant.

Getting ready for work the next day Holly looked at the pendant for a good long moment before deciding that she would take the risk of wearing it. Holly rationalized it to herself as seeing whether she would be able to resist the pendant's influence. Even if she couldn't ,Holly considered that her behavior hadn't been all that risky, she had been daring but not reckless .

Holly put on a dark blue plaid skirt and paired it with a short sleeve royal blue blouse. When she checked her appearance she saw that her clothes suggested a school girl outfit for an adult but without taking it to the level of being a slutty fantasy costume.

Due to mornings being quite cold now Holly wore a navy coat on top of her outfit. She was grateful for the extra layer of clothing as she felt it would be another barrier to keep any exhibitionist impulses under control, at least until she got to the office and took the coat off.

Shortly after Holly arrived at work Scott and Alice stopped by her desk and invited her to come and get some coffee. Alice complimented Holly on her skirt prompting Scott to take a long look at what Holly was wearing before smiling and saying it looked like a skirt. Holly rolled her eyes but there was a certain hunger to Scott's smile that gave her a small thrill.

About midmorning Holly got a call from Harrison asking if she would be able to take on another urgent job. Holly didn't really want to do it but she knew how just under the pump his team was. "Sure, I can put off a couple of other jobs and take this on."

Harrison breathed out audibly in relief, "You're a champion Holly. If you could come by my office soon I'll run you through the details"

As Holly made some notes about the job she was currently working on and sent an email to George, her mind pictured Harrison. Harrison was ruggedly handsome and looked like he kept himself in great shape. Holly thought about adjusting her clothes to show herself off to him but quickly dismissed it as an unbelievably stupid idea. Harrison was one of the partners, it would be highly inappropriate and Holly preferred to have his respect rather than risk him forming an impression that she was shameless eye candy.

When Holly arrived at Harrison's office he looked up from his computer, seeing Holly in his doorway he smiled and was about to greet her but paused as he took in what she was wearing. It was only for a moment but Holly swore she could see an appreciative look on his face. Realizing he had paused Harrison shook his head a grinned ruefully, "Sorry, it felt like I was going to sneeze."

Having smoothly recovered from his slip, Harrison invited Holly to take a seat. Holly graciously pretended nothing had happened but inside she felt like she got hit with a spike of adrenaline.

That feeling was quickly extinguished when Harrison started to give her the details of work that needed to be done. Holly got a sinking feeling that her day had just been hijacked, "When do you need this by?"

Harrison grimaced, "Ideally early tomorrow so we can review it and then get the client to look it over and confirm the amounts. Is that going to be possible?"

Holly knew that the only way it was going to be possible was if she stayed back tonight. Holly suppressed a sigh before slowly nodding, "Yes, I can get it to you for review by early tomorrow."

Harrison could understand why Holly was not all that enthused about the job and knew that she would have to stay back late to get it done, "I'm sorry to dump work on you like this again. I'll talk with George and we'll arrange to give you an extra day of leave to make up for this and the other job you did for me." Harrison smiled at Holly, "Thanks Holly, you've been amazing."

Holly couldn't help returning Harrison's smile, he was a really charming person, she could see why he almost always went to initial meetings with prospective clients. Holly took the folder of documents from and went back to her desk to get started right away.

At lunch time Scott and Danny stopped by her desk with an invitation to come to lunch with a group of their co-workers. Holly thanked them for the offer but let them know that she was too busy. The guys seemed genuinely crestfallen that Holly wouldn't be able to come to lunch, Holly felt a flush of warmth at the thought of the guys wanting her to join them but those thoughts aside to focus on Harrison's job.

After a quick break to eat something Holly focused herself on getting the work done. As she had predicted it was quite late at night by the time she was able to finish and have the drafts sent to Harrison.

Looking at the time, Holly's mind then went back to the last time she was alone at the office late at night and she could feel herself getting aroused at the memory of walking around the office naked and then masturbating on the meeting room table. Holly was tempted to put on a repeat performance but another glance at the clock told her that she didn't have long before the time the cleaners usually showed up.

Holly was a little disappointed at the missed opportunity but she knew that she could try it again on another night if she wanted to. However, Holly was still aroused, after a long day focused on work and possibly due to the influence of the pendant she still wanted to do something daring. Holly tried to come up with an idea while she packed up her desk but nothing came to mind until she went to grab her coat. Holly's mind raced as she considered her idea and whether she could go through with it.

Holly grabbed her bag and coat and went to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror Holly undressed until all she was wearing was her shoes and the pendant. Holly then carefully folded her clothes and placed them in her bag thankful that her bag was large enough for them all to fit inside. Holly then put her coat on and buttoned it up. The neck of the coat was wide allowing the pendant to be visible and showing a hint of cleavage. The coat only went down a couple of inches past her crotch, if she bent over or sat down her cunt would be exposed.

Holly stared at her reflection and decided she needed a little something more to make herself more appealing. Rummaging through her bag Holly took out some hair clips to pin her hair up and then put on some vivid red lipstick.

On the walk to the train station Holly was very aware of the lack of clothing under her coat. There was the not unpleasant friction from her nipples rubbing against her coat as her tits bounced with her stride. There was also the feel of the cool night air caressing her bare cunt and bringing its wetness to her attention. While she was waiting for her train Holly was tempted to flash the commuters on the other platforms but she resisted the urge as there were too many people.

During the middle of the week, the trains at this time of night had very few passengers but there were enough that Holly felt a heady mix of nervousness and excitement at her current state of dress. The train carriage Holly entered had three other people, an older couple at one end and down the other end a man who looked to be in his mid to late thirties. Holly headed toward a seat nearer to the man. The seat she chose was in full view of the man, there would be nothing in the way to hide her body from his sight. As she sat down the coat went up higher on her legs revealing enough of her smooth pale thigh that anyone would wonder what, if anything Holly was wearing under her coat. Placing her bag on the floor Holly looked at the window and pretended she was just calmly riding the train home.

Holly could feel the man's gaze on her and a glance at his reflection in the train windows confirmed that he was looking at her with interest. Holly shivered but it had nothing to do with how little she was wearing. The man's eyes roaming over her body stoked her arousal and Holly wanted to take things further. It would be easy to simply open her coat and give the man a view of her naked body but she could also go to him and give him a close up view. Holly hesitated, going up to a stranger and exposing herself was a massive step, that was probably the pendant's work. Aware that the opportunity to do anything could be passing by Holly found she wouldn't be fully satisfied with passively showing herself, she wanted something more direct, to watch his eyes devour the sight of her and gauge how he reacted.

Holly turned to face the man and he realized he had been caught looking at her. He immediately looked away but Holly decided she wasn't going to let him get away like that.

"Hi, how was your day?"

The man seemed a little flustered that Holly was talking to him, "Uh; not so bad"

When Holly smiled the man wasn't able to hold her gaze, his eyes shifted to the pendant as being the only safe place to look.

"That's an interesting looking pendant you have there. What's the picture of? I can't quite make it out from here."

Holly smiled, "Would you like to take a closer look?"

The man seemed caught like a deer in headlights, Holly didn't wait for a reply she picked up her bag and moved over to sit opposite to the man. Holly leaned forward in her seat to give him a closer look at the pendant but also gave him a view down her coat at her unrestrained tits. The man was dumbstruck, he leaned closer to look at the pendant but Holly noticed his eyes shift downward to look at her tits.

Holly pulled back slightly and the stranger's eyes raised to meet hers, "So what do you think?"

The stranger had trouble speaking but eventually managed to croak out a one word answer "Amazing"

Holly bit her lip, "Would you like to see something else?"

The stranger could only nod.

Holly leaned back against the seat and slid a little lower, she then slowly unbuttoned her coat, took hold of the sides and pulled it open. The man's eyes almost popped out at the sight of Holly's naked body, "Jesus!"

The stranger slowly moved his gaze down her body taking in the stunning sight of Holly's chest flushed with arousal and her soft pink nipples hard as rocks. When his eyes arrived at the small triangle of auburn pubic hair Holly parted her legs and revealed the glistening pink of her cunt. The stranger was rapt not believing what was in front of him.

Holly was outwardly calm but inside she was roiling with arousal, the stranger's response was absolutely delicious. Holly noticed a shifting bulge in the stranger's pants and she felt her cunt twitch. It had been so long since Holly had last ha

Amorous Goods: Mannequin & Cameo Pendant

Tenth Amendment — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 20:42:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: Mannequin.

Toying around with a mannequin, yields him unwanted desire.

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

A lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left the entire collection and the business built around them to the only remaining relative, a niece on a career path of her own. Vikki has taken on the task of administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However, she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. This 18 part series is devoted to many of the stories of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods.

"What were you doing, I've been looking for you, Dylan," Vikki demanded.

"I was just taking care of something, that's all."

"Wanking it again? If you got time to wank it, you got time to do work at work; that's productive to the whole business, not just for you," she griped.

"I was not masturbating, I was looking at a few leads on some things. What kinda guy you think I am," he waved his arms around.

"A sexually frustrated guy, who's turned to porn."

"Look; it's been slow all day, pretty much anything that can be done in the store has been. The only thing I could do, is wash the step van."

"Find anything online or our usual contacts?"

"No."

"Then wash the van," she walks off.

"You wash the van." He yells after her.

With a grimace he struts outside, grabbing car care products from the garage, retrieving the hose, looking at a basement window, muttering; "soon sweetheart, I'll be back," before dragging it across the backyard to where the step van sits, grabbing a ladder, hosing off the roof, the rest of the van, before soaping it down, taking a mop to the roof and elsewhere, spraying it off. Satisfied at the bare bones work, decides it's time for a well-deserved reward. Walking back inside.

"I'm coming baby, as quick as I can."

Morgana returns from a cleansing, uploading the recorded process in her office, taking a trip down to the basement to check for any activity. She runs in to Dylan coming down.

"What are you doing with that old mannequin," she wonders.

"Nothing why?"

"Why is it on that bed, Dylan?"

"I don't know Morgana, maybe it was moving around and laid there."

"Why are you going to the basement?"

"Doing a once over, there's nothing else to do, might organize it; ya know; do my job."

"Stop messing with that mannequin, at once," she glared.

"I'm not doing anything with the mannequin, Morgana."

"Heed my words boy; heed my words," she walked up the steps.

Dylan rolled his eyes, with a sly grin, going straight for it, running his hands over its tits, to its crotch. Something catches his eye; the head looks as if it were turned slightly, watching for his return, mouth slightly open.

"Hmm. Sweetheart; I don't remember you having an open mouth; well don't worry; I got something for you to eat. Looks like Morgana cleaned off my spooge. I don't remember you having a crack between your legs either. Weird."

Dylan pulls out his phone, finishing the porn Vikki interrupted, looking for him, pulls out his cock, playing with it.

"Ya know; this chick looks just like you," he rubs it's thigh.

He watches the girl in the video being pounded in the rear, face down, ass up, the guy pulling her arms behind her by the wrist. Sitting the phone on his knee, switching hands, rubbing the precum in her crotch.

"Too bad we can't put you in this position," he held the phone to its face.

Stroking a bit faster, nearly lost in the video, not noticing what little precum soaked in the crack.

"I'd better make this quick before they both bust in on me, before I bust. I know we like to take our time, promise to spend all lunch with you tomorrow."

He stands, sitting his phone on the torso, rubbing both tit.

"open wide, baby," he whispers.

Getting as close as he can, trying to shoot his rope in the slightly open mouth, hitting in and around his target. Zips his cock away, kissing it on the forehead, turning for one more look.

"Till tomorrow, my sweetheart."

Morgana sneaks down to the basement once the moment is save, seeing the thing dry, checking for any wet spots or cum-rags. She runs in to Vikki in the kitchen.

"I think my cousin needs to get laid, I think he's wanking off to that mannequin," Vikki proposes.

"He might be. At least he either cleans it off or doesn't; release himself on it directly. I don't understand why he doesn't simply get a prostitute, if he can't find a girlfriend."

"Beats me."

Later that night, Morgana stayed late to see if she might observe any paranormal activity before she takes her leave home, she's aware of the two cousins sleeping patterns up to around five A.M. A slight muffled walking catches her ears.

"How many times does that boy need to release himself a day," she mutters to herself, "messing with that damn mannequin again."

The footsteps drift around the first floor.

"Maybe it's Vikki searching for a snack," Morgana smiles, turning back to her laptop.

Up the steps, trying not to wake anybody, checking rooms, eye's peer in to Nikki�s, curious about the sound coming from her mouth. Shutting the door quietly as possible, moving on. Dylan's door opens, spotting him in his bed with an uneasy smile, slips inside, shutting it. Walking closer to the bed, hands drifting around the blanket, searching for a way to remove it. Hands glide on his legs, gently touching his face, pulling away the blanket. Dylan moans, rolling on his back. By the light through the windows; flat eyes spot the goal.

It silently wretches up fresh cum to its mouth, leaning on the bed, planting a kiss on his lips, to his sleeping approval, he kisses back. Taking his flaccid cock in its hand, closing its hollow mouth around it, doing best to suck him off. "Too hard," he moans when his cock swells around the tight lips, the mannequin opens wide enough that his shaft softly rubs against its now rubbery feeling lips, leaking drops of his cum. Inspecting his cock, making sure he's fully erect, straddles him, kissing him once more, passionately as it can, stroking his face with a free hand. He moans compliantly, finding it's waist in slumber, working his hands to her chest, its mouth silently moaning in pleasure, chest being pulled to his mouth, taking in the faux nipple bumps, the surface gives nearly as well as real skin, pulling with his teeth, sucking and rubbing.

It pulls away from his mouth, his grasp follows them. The split between her legs opens, dripping with his cum, it plants his cock inside, rocking in circular motions, Dylan's hands make their way to its ass, legs lifting to push deeper in it, it's legs lock under his, sitting up bouncing, holding, rubbing, and tugging its own tits and nubs. It stares intently as his moans grow harder and louder. To the point he starts to wake himself up.

"Oh fuck; yes baby," he moans opening his eyes, "Oh fuck! Oh shit!"

Wide awake staring at pursed lips and flat painted eye's, moving to the body bouncing up and down on his cock. Terrified, trying to push it off, it grips his shoulders, pushing its chest in to his face to muffle his screams, Dylan turns his head.

"Ah! Help; help me! Nikki! Morgana! Yeah!"

The mannequin tries to kiss him again, he's pushing against its waist being violently fucked by it.

"Eh! Nikki!"

Dylan starts beating on the wall, Vikki runs in his room with a fearful look on her face, watching the act.

"Is that...?"

"Yes, get it off, get it off!"

"Morgana, are you still here? Morgana." She yells out the door.

Moments later Morgana rushes up the steps, Dylan's screams of pleasure and fear fills the room. He breaks its grip, pushing it away.

"Hold on, I need something to contain it," she takes off.

His body starts to jerk from the oncoming climax, it looks at Vikki slack jawed before tossing its head back as if it's having an orgasm, it tries to slide its arms under his body as it rises and falls with the bouncing of the bed. Vikki runs over, pulling on an arm, taking it out of the socket, throwing it, when it reached between her legs, watching it writhe on the floor. Dylan is able to break its grip again, Morgana returns with rope, just in time to catch him push it hard enough to separate the torso from the lower half, shoving it to the floor. It starts to make hollow breathing and rasping noises, trying to get back on the bed. The lower half rides him faster without the upper half slowing it down.

"It's still fucking me!"

"We see that," Morgana shouts.

Her and Vikki bind the upper half, tying the free arm with it, it's head flails wildly. They rush over lifting his legs to free the lower half from him, his screams grow deeper as he goes over the edge, Vikki frees a leg just before his orgasm explodes inside the mock vagina. It continues riding him, until Morgana frees the other leg. She loops the rope around the crotch, leaving enough slack, both fighting the kicking legs, fighting to wrap them from the knees down together, hog tying them best they can, to keep them from bucking. Dylan breaks free from his petrifying orgasm to help tie the legs to the torso in attempt to further subdue the mannequin, as it continues to make heavy raspy blowing noises, which they all assume is screaming. Morgana drags it to a closet, closing it in.

"I don't ever; ever want to see you getting off again. Also; why were you fucking with that thing," Vikki yelled.

"I told you! I told you not to mess with it! What if you were alone, then what? I don't know if it can actually feel or if it's just doing whatever you somehow taught it. Either it was going to get every orgasm from you that it could, or not stop until it got one, which if it cannot achieve such a feeling; fuck your cock to dust, or worse once it realized it wasn't getting one. Stop fucking with it." Morgana scolded.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think that would happen, I was just jacking off on it. I found some videos with a chick that looks like it." Dylan cried.

"I don't wanna hear that shit," Vikki snapped.

"Nor do I," Morgana added.

"Just stop this shit. Get a god damn prostitute before you think of unleashing some sex crazed poltergeist!"

"So what do we do with it?"

"It is probably fueled by your ejaculate, bringing it to life, we keep it tied up and wait to see what happens, hopefully the thing exhaust itself, returning inanimate," Morgana explains.

"And you, dumbass; don't fuck with it. I hope you got off and it was worth it."

"I wonder if he would've offered himself to it, if it presented itself while he was awake," Morgana walked out.

"He probably would," Vikki followed.

"No I wouldn't!"

"Yeah, yeah," they retorted.

The next day Morgana carried the shaking thing to her office where she would keep a camera on it. Dylan locked eye's with it, causing it to convulse and start that raspy hollow breathing. He felt his cock jump, yelping and running away in fear.

To be continued, in the series, Amorous Goods; a collaborative storyline for Literotica

Amorous Goods: The Cameo Pendant � Part 1

An antique necklace brings change to Holly's life.

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

The Cameo Pendant.

After Holly finished correcting and checking some transactions recorded in a client's bookkeeping records she checked the time on her computer and was surprised to see it was already midday. Holly knew she had gotten a lot of work done but it still seemed like it had only just been a short time since she had logged on in the morning. Lately due to the amount of work there was to get through Holly was having trouble keeping a handle on the time.

Looking outside Holly saw that it was a nice and sunny day, she then turned back to her computer screens and the stack of folders filled with client documents on the desk beside her and sighed. Holly decided it was time to take a break and felt the need to get away from her desk for a bit. It was a little earlier than she usually took her lunch break but if she got started on a new task she might end up working through lunch again. Holly quickly got up, got her handbag and headed out. It was nice to have lunch outside for a change and as the temperature was cooling with the approach of winter it was pleasant to be out in the sun. When Holly finished eating she found that she wasn't ready to head back to the office just yet so she decided to go for a walk around the downtown area.

Just around the corner from the main street fashion boutiques and trendy bars and cafes Holly passed by a store with a large sign that in old fashioned text proclaimed it was called Amorous Goods. The store had been there for as long as Holly could remember and she had always been curious as to what the store sold but had never gone in. The store's display windows always had an eclectic assortment of items that to Holly never really fit with the store's name. Holly noted that she still had plenty of time left for her lunch break and so on a whim Holly decided to take a look inside.

Pushing the door open, Holly was startled and then amused to find that the door had an actual bell attached to it so that it rang when the door was opened. Entering the store there was a slight but noticeable difference in atmosphere. The store was warm but not stuffy and stale as Holly had imagined it might be. Instead of the smells Holly associated with antiques Holly noticed a hint of the scent of cinnamon. It was an uncommon scent but one that was a favorite of Holly and she could feel her mood lift.

The only person in the store that Holly could see was a woman who looked to be around her own age carrying a notebook around and who appeared to be cataloguing the numerous items in the store which Holly was surprised to see was quite larger than the storefront seemed to suggest. Toward the back of the store there was even a staircase that went both upstairs and downstairs.

The woman stopped what she was doing and walked toward Holly to greet her.

"Hi there, welcome to Amorous Goods, Is there anything I can help you with, something you're looking for in particular?

Holly shook her head, "No, I just thought I'd take a look around."

The woman smiled, "That's no problem. My name's Vikki. If you need any help just call out for me."

Holly smiled in return, "Thanks Vikki, I will."

Looking around the store, Holly was fascinated by the wide range of items to be found. On one table was a vintage typewriter and an assortment of fountain pens and even a quill pen. There was a section of the store filled with racks of clothing. Holly also saw a shelf with books and ornaments including an ornate arrow, a tea set and bizarrely what appeared to be a white bear skin rug hanging on the wall.

Holly wandered over to a glass case containing some display busts with necklaces draped on them. The necklaces hadn't been arranged neatly, with a number of them laying on top of each other on the busts. There were a few pearl necklaces, some lockets, pendants with precious stones and some pendants of carved jade or ivory. On one of the display busts almost buried under the other necklaces Holly's attention was drawn to a cameo pendant. The full carved picture was obscured by the other necklaces, only the profile of a woman's head could be seen. The sight of the cameo jewelry combined with the scent of cinnamon triggered memories of Holly's grandmother and the beautiful cameo brooch that she had in her jewelry collection. Her interest piqued, Holly wanted to get a better look at the cameo pendant.

Holly turned to look for Vikki and saw her by a table holding a random assortment of items.

"Excuse me, Vikki?"

Vikki looked up from what she was doing and turned toward Holly.

Holly gestured towards the display cabinet, "Can I please take a closer look at one of the pendants?"

Vikki paused for a brief moment before smiling and nodding, "Sure, I'll just go get the key for the cabinet "

Holly watched as Vikki walked to a counter with a computer and cash register on top. Vikki opened a drawer and pulled out a set of keys which while not comical in size still had a good number of keys on it. Vikki then pulled out a pair of white cotton gloves and put them on before joining Holly at the display cabinet. Holly was a little impressed when Vikki was able to quickly identify the correct key to open the display cabinet.

"So which necklace did you want a look at?"

Holly pointed at the display bust with the cameo pendant on it, "The one at the bottom with the cameo pendant please."

Vikki grabbed the necklaces that were on the display bust and Holly was concerned that the chains would be all tangled. However, Vikki was able to extract the cameo pendant and hand it to Holly without any trouble.

The pendant's fine gold chain was in good condition as was the setting for the pendant. Holly's focus though was on the cameo pendant itself. The carved picture turned out to be of a slender young woman in a sitting position. To Holly's surprise the woman was half naked with a long flowing robe or dress sitting halfway down her back leaving her shoulders and tits bare. The white carved image was sharply contrasted by the deep dark blue glass surrounding it.

This cameo pendant was a lot different from her grandmother's brooch which from Holly's memory wasn't quite as detailed as this and certainly didn't have a half-naked woman on it. Holly looked closer at the image and was fascinated at the level of detail that had been carved into the glass.

Hol

Amorous Goods: Time Does Stand Still at Christmas

Tenth Amendment — Sun, 07 Jun 2026 20:38:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: Time Does Stand Still at Christmas

An old watch and a demon can really screw up a family.

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

Debbie hunched over the wheel of her Saturn. The wipers flashed back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; It was a perfect day to drive back to her dad's house. Dark, gloomy, the chance of snow - just awful. She didn't want to go back, but she really had no choice. College was over, but no job offers had come her way.

She had been so happy leaving home for college. Her dad had remarried after a particularly nasty divorce. Deb was happy for him, but she didn't really like her stepmom and absolutely detested her new stepbrother. He was everything she wasn't. Good looking, popular, and had a baseball scholarship to a major college. She was plain, overlooked, and had struggled to get into a reasonably successful minor college.

John was four years younger than Debbie but made her life hell. And naturally, his mom took his side. Her dad could see what was happening but tried to walk a delicate tightrope between the two families.

"I know it's hard for you, but try to get along with Johnny. He's only sixteen. He'll grow out of it." Brian, her dad, said in the early days of the invasion. He tried to soothe his daughter, but Debbie knew the type of asshole her stepbrother was. Six years later, nothing had changed.

And now she was going back to that hell hole. What was worse - if it could get worse, was her dad wasn't going to be there for the first couple of days. She was going to have to deal with the Johnny and Janey show by herself. She shuddered at the thought. Deb had looked for any other alternative, but she didn't have the friends or funds to stay away. Money for gas and a cheap meal or two was about it. Not even enough to buy her dad a Christmas card. She hoped a couple of applications she'd made to local businesses would yield something soon. Anything.

"Why does my life suck so much?" she rhetorically asked the world. A thought drifted into her head suggesting she was cursed. She told it to fuck off. She may be a Graphic Arts major, but she didn't believe in curses. Bad luck, poor choices, wrong genes, but not curses.

Rain. Heading towards sleet. Her stomach growled angrily at the remains of the early winter storm thumping the North East. She looked at the clock on the dashboard and calculated the time left to get home, then her finances. She figured she had enough for a cheeseburger and a decent coffee. Right on cue, the ubiquitous yellow and red burger sign appeared on the highway, so she pulled into the car park. Deb thought about just getting drive-through, but the need to pee was suddenly strong.

"Fine," she muttered, getting out of the car and slamming the door. "Let's eat a limp burger with a bunch of snotty teens pretending this is a cool place to hang out."

She ran to the door and looked for the bathroom. Nobody looked at her. That was normal. After finishing she ordered her meal and sat in a corner booth. The burger was average but the coffee was surprisingly good. She settled back and picked up a discarded local paper someone had left behind and started flicking through it. Debbie wasn't really interested in the news, but the composition was different from most current newspapers. It was set in a very unusual 1930's style - so odd she checked the date to make sure it wasn't out of a museum.

The date was current. Deb figured it was a marketing ploy to make it stand out from the rapidly dwindling competition, and kept flicking the pages. She stopped when she got to the classifieds and a small ad caught her eye.

Amorous Goods

Curios from Around the World

Open most days

12 - 8 pm

Deb shrugged and turned the page, but her mind didn't want to leave. She turned back to the advertisement and looked up the address using the free Wi-Fi. It wasn't too far away, and more importantly, visiting the store gave her an excuse to stay away from the JJ shitstorm a bit longer.

Memories of her actual family on vacation visiting antique stores came flooding back. Her dad loved old timepieces and Japanese art, while her mom loved porcelain animals. Deb was just fascinated by anything old and unusual. She finished her coffee, picked up the paper and quickly walked to the car. Mercifully the rain had tapered off to a mere drizzle.

She checked the address again on her phone and drove off. A short time later she parked outside an old mansion that had seen better days. In the gloom, it looked downright spooky. It seemed an odd place for an antique store, but Deb assumed it was part of a small business complex in the old building. The upkeep on a building this size would be horrendous.

Deb walked up the path and through the front door. The place looked so familiar, like many stores she had visited before. Glass cabinets filled with small items, miscellaneous furniture placed randomly on the floor and shelving around the walls with beautiful copperplate script notes generally describing the items on them.

"Good evening Miss, welcome to Amorous Goods. Can I help you with anything?"

She turned around from admiring a small Japanese woodblock print on a shelf and smiled at the speaker. "Hi, I'm just looking thanks. You have some wonderful items here, though. Like this print. I'd swear it was by Katsushika Hokusai, but he didn't do paintings of people in, umm, such intimate poses."

The man chuckled, "You have a very good eye, Miss. It is actually a Hokusai. The builder of this collection," he said, sweeping his arm and pointing at the room, "had a knack of finding highly unusual and rare pieces that had an erotic connection. Hence the name of the store."

He carefully picked up the print. "Vikki, my co-owner, believes this is one of three still in existence. How did you know what it was?"

Deb shrugged. "My dad loves Japanese art. He has some reproduction Hokusai prints, but so many books on him. I'd love to get a real one for his Christmas present, but I think that one would be way out of my price range."

"You're a nice daughter. What's your price range? Maybe there's something else we have."

"I doubt it. My budget is extremely low. Like non-existent."

"Oh. Well, there's no harm in you having a look around. You may see something you like, and we could hold it for you for a short time."

"Thanks, Mr.; I'd love to see what else you have."

"Dylan, just Dylan will be fine. So Japanese; There's a few items that may interest you."

Dylan walked around the shop, picking up items and describing them to Deb. She was amazed at the range of goods and Dylan's knowledge of each item. As he mentioned, each one seemed to have an erotic element somewhere in it's past. Even the razor sharp katana had been used by the Samurai protecting the virginity of the Emperor's daughter. It apparently had been quite successful in defending her honor. It was all fantastic, but nothing she could ever hope to afford.

Finally, Dylan stopped at a glass cabinet and picked up a large pocket watch with a felt cloth. He held it in his palm and passed it to Deb. "This is interesting. It's a Japanese pocket watch combined with a stopwatch. It's not that old, probably late 1960's, and is plated silver. The note with it said it was a prop in some early 70's; questionable movies. Unfortunately, we can't confirm its provenance so we're selling it at the typical price for such an item."

Debbie took the watch and carefully looked at it. The face was a painting of two Geishas attending a Samurai warrior. Around the edge of the face was kana script, so small it was barely legible. On the rear was a larger kanji engraving, which she roughly translated as 'Time will stop, but love is forever.'

"That's beautiful," she said quietly, "I've never seen something like that before. And the kanji. What a nice present." She shook her head. Holding the watch seemed to fill her with an unusual warmth. Just a flash, then it was gone. She handed it back to Dylan, who picked it up in the cloth again. "I probably can't afford it either, but I'm interested in its history. What movies was it supposed to be in? I may have watched them."

Dylan chuckled. "Possibly. I don't judge people's tastes. Some of them were 'Otoko wa tetsudō de jikan o teishi shimasu, Otoko wa taiikukan de jikan o teishi shimasu, Otoko wa jikanwotomete sararīman to sekkusu;�

Deb blinked at the last title. "Man stops time and has sex with office worker? Really?"

"Yes, I did say they were questionable movies. They were early Japanese reality pornography, the first in this particular genre. The premise was the male character had a watch that could stop time for anyone around him, and he would carry out sexual acts on them. It spawned a huge number of copycat movies, but this was supposed to be unscripted, real-life acts."

"Really? That's creepy." She looked at the watch again. "How much is it?" Deb asked. She didn't really like the tale, but the watch itself was something her dad would really appreciate.

"We have it at $85, mainly because of its age." Dylan shuffled his feet and looked at Deb hard. "Tell you what. Vikki prefers to see our special items go to those who will appreciate them. I think you would. I'll cut the price to $50, and how about we work out a modified layaway plan so you can take it home tonight? Consider it a Christmas present from us."

"Wow. Really? That would be awesome."

Dylan smiled and went behind the sales counter. He took down Deb's details and carefully placed the watch in a cloth lined box, then handed it to her. "Here you are. Be careful with it. It's completely sealed, and we can't figure out how to open the mechanism. Also, try and avoid touching it with your bare skin. It will react to your touch."

"What, like the plating will tarnish?" Debbie asked, taking the box.

"Something like that. Thanks for visiting Amorous Goods, and please drop by again. Have a Merry Christmas."

Debbie smiled broadly at Dylan, waved and walked back to her car. The rain had stopped and the sky had started to clear. Things were slightly better than they were; a couple of hours ago! She gasped as she looked at the time. Nearly two hours had flown by. On one hand, she enjoyed being guided around the store, but on the other, it was going to make a very late arrival home. She started the car and headed away from the old mansion. In the rearview mirror she caught a glimpse of the old building. It appeared to swell slightly, then shrink back. Almost like it had drawn a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

'I need some sleep,' she thought, shaking her head.

Two hours later she pulled into her familiar driveway. As expected, her dad's car wasn't there. Dipshit's Silverado truck wasn't there either. Debbie figured he'd gone out partying again with his college buddies or his cheerleading girlfriend. A lone light was on in the lounge. She hoped Jane was just being nice and left it on after going to bed, but a flicker of light from the TV put paid to that hope. Sighing, she grabbed her bag off the back seat and walked inside.

"Hi Jane, how are you?" she said in a monotone to the pneumatic blonde lying on the couch. Deb grudgingly had to admit, her stepmom looked pretty good for her age. There was enough of her dad's money going into gym classes and other "therapy" to hold her looks to the early-40's. Debbie didn't like it, but she really couldn't say anything. Just go with the flow, like she always did.

"Hi Deborah. Good to see you safe. I was starting to get worried," Jane replied, not taking her eyes off the TV. Deb gritted her teeth at being called 'Deborah'. Nobody had called her that unless she was in trouble, and Janey knew it. It was one of the small passive aggressive things the two assholes did to annoy her.

"Yeah, the rain was coming down pretty hard out east so I stopped for a while to let it blow over. I'm pretty tired, so I'll see you in the morning."

"Sure Deborah. I'll be at Pilates at six, but you know where everything is. Johnny's out with Cindy. He may be back tonight." Janey turned to look at Deb for the first time that night. "How's your college cheering team? Are you doing okay?"

"We're fine. We came second in the Regionals," Deb replied.

"That's nice. Good night." said Janey and turned back to watch 'The Real Housewives of Debbie Didn't Give a Shit Where.'

Another needle. She had enjoyed gymnastics and cheering as a young girl, but then her body conspired against that. By the time she was into puberty, it was obvious her body was going to be shaped like a brick. She was still reasonably athletic and was selected to be on the base of her High School cheer squad because of her strength. Again, she was average and never saw more trophies than the Regionals. That carried through to College.

She lightly ran up the stairs and into her room. She was happy to see nothing had changed. The thought had gone through her mind that her stuff would have been tossed out and the room used for another area for John to infect.

"Oh, fuck. Why is everything so shit?" she asked no one, tossing her bag onto the bed and sitting down. Sighing, she closed her eyes and fell back. Deb was just starting to doze off when a weight landed on her chest and a series of small needles started pressing into one side, then the other.

She smiled and opened her eyes to see a pair of yellow feline ones looking back at her. "Hello Sebastian," she said to the black cat. "Nice to see you."

Seb had come with the two J's, but he'd actually taken a shine to Debbie. Janey thought it strange as Seb usually avoided people he didn't know. Deb scratched him behind an ear, and the cat started purring loudly in response. "Well, I knew you'd be happy to see me."

Deb sat up and caught a glimpse of the box her watch had been packed in. She dropped Seb off her lap and grabbed the box. The cat looked impassively at her, then started cleaning himself.

"Don't shed too much hair on my bed," she laughed and opened the box. Looking closely at the face, she noticed that the Samurai appeared to have his hand deep under one of the Geisha's kimono, but the woman didn't have any reaction on her face. She hadn't noticed that before.

"Huh, strange drawing. I guess it fits with the story though. Nice touch," she said to the cat, who ignored her. She tipped the watch onto her palm and closely examined the case. Dylan was right. It looked completely sealed. She turned it over and closely examined the script around the face under her bedside light. It was definitely Japanese, but it was beyond her basic knowledge of the language.

"Well, let's see if it works. Guess I wind it up with the crown." Seb looked at her, then started chewing on his front paw.

"Tasty?" Deb laughed as she wound the watch. She could feel the mechanism click under her fingers and the small second hand started to sweep around the smaller dial on the face, a barely audible tick coming from the case. A slight warmth went through her fingers and disappeared.

"Well, that's pretty awesome. Dad will love this. Guess I'd better check the stopwatch function." Seb had stopped chewing his paw and had started cleaning himself again. One rear leg was in the air, and his tongue busy licking the inside. He looked up at Deb, then continued his work.

Deb looked at the two buttons either side of the crown knob. One was probably the start and the other to stop the timer. She tapped the left button and a large needle started circling the face. She grinned at the watch, then looked over at Sebastian. He had stopped cleaning himself, his leg high in the air and tongue hanging out.

"Seb? You okay? Sebastian?" She poked the cat with a finger, and Seb didn't react. Worried, she looked closer at him. He looked okay. Moving her face close to his nose she thought she could feel a shallow breath.

"Well, that's a relief. What happened?" She looked at the warm feeling watch in her hand, and a sense of dread came over her.

"No; That's impossible; Nothing could stop; Fuck. Wow." She pressed the other button and Seb resumed his ablutions, completely unaware that he had been frozen in time. Deb tapped the start button again and Sebastian froze again. She carefully pulled his tail and straightened it out. She was surprised to see he was still supple. Just to make sure, she pushed his upper leg down flat and gently tilted his head back. Seb moved in the direction she pushed with minimal resistance. Deb pushed the other button and the cat licked the air.

Sebastian looked around with a confused look and jumped to his feet. He glared at Deb, flicked his tail in disgust and stalked out of the room.

Deb suppressed a chuckle at the indignant cat who obviously guessed she was to blame for his air lick. "Sorry Seb, but I need to check something."

She tapped the stop time button and Seb paused mid-step. Deb quietly walked to the top of the stairs, bending down to scratch him behind the ear as she walked by. Looking down, she peered at her stepmom to see if there was any movement. The TV still was on, but she couldn't tell if Jane was frozen or just asleep. Finally, Jane coughed and shuffled on the couch.

"Hmmm, so there's a limit. More than ten feet, less than fifty. Oh, sorry Seb." Deb tapped the go button and the cat started walking again.

"This is unbelievable. How could this work? Wow. Just. Mmmm. Maybe those movies were real. Huh."

She pulled out her laptop and searched for the titles Dylan mentioned. They were exactly as he had described. They were all fairly short and followed a similar format. A wobbly handheld camera panned around, then focused on a particular woman wearing a short skirt. The cameraman followed her until she was alone, then there was a shot of the watch Deb had bought and a finger hitting the pause button. The scene cut and changed as if the camera was now mounted on a tripod.

A hooded man walked up to the now still woman and ran his hand up her leg and over her butt. He then pushed a hand down her shirt and roughly grabbed her boobs and slobbered over her mouth. The man bent her over and pushed a finger under her panties and roughly finger fucked the woman. Finally, he pushed his pixelated cock into her pussy and rapidly fucked her, pulling out and shooting his load over the b

Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys Part 3

Tenth Amendment — Sat, 06 Jun 2026 19:16:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys � Part 3

Community Assets, at Amorous Goods

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

Continuing from Part 2.

Chapter Thirty-Three.

Sam responded to the Korean wife's question. "Yes, your gaping asshole filled with my cum is going to be an incredible picture. I think you and I will both jerk off to it for years to come." He was about to carry on with something about her not showing that particular image to her husband right away, when So-Young broke in.

"Hmm, I just know you're right. But now I'm imagining the next photo and I want you to make it for me."

Sam sat up, again realizing that So-Young had taken her involvement in the process further than any previous model. It seemed his normalization and inclusion process had reached a new level. "And what photo is that?" he asked.

"Eat the cum out of my ass," she said strongly. "I want to feel your tongue digging your seed from my anus, but I also want to have that image to look at forever. Like you said, I can easily imagine masturbating while looking at just those three photos: my virgin ass filled with your cock, my gaping ass filled with your cum, and your stiff tongue going in after it."

The little pervert sat back in shock. So-Young had outdone him and she was right. Sam knew he'd get lots of sales of the cum-filled asshole by itself and many more combined with the virgin reaming, but there was a whole other fringe audience that would gladly pay highly for the third shot So-Young mentioned.

He considered for a moment. It really wasn't his thing, sexually, but from a business angle...

But it would require breaking a cardinal rule, he never included his own face in any of the images he published. And then he remembered that the cum had been poured out of his condom; a condom coated inside with desensitizing lubricant. Nope, not getting Benzocaine-tainted spunk on his tongue, no thanks.

Sam didn't want to break his best spell ever by shutting So-Young down cold, however, so he deflected with some half-truths. "You're right, Mrs. Lee, that would be a very exciting shot. That's part of what makes you such a natural erotic model, you can see the images in your naughty head as well as make them happen with your heavenly body. But men want to imagine it's them doing these things to you and including my face would go too far in knocking them out of that fantasy."

"But what if only you and I got to see that picture?" she purred. "You're not afraid of your own cum, are you?"

"Well, my goo is so mixed up with the lubricant that it would be pretty nasty, so yes, I guess today I am afraid," he laughed. "I'll tell you what, though, let's get an 'almost there' shot."

Sam approached So-Young's ass from the side, on hands and knees. He leaned his head in with tongue extended and licked her bum, just an inch away from her creamy butthole. He had no intention of letting her have a copy of this image, but it did serve to keep the mood going for the rest of today's session.

"How about we do something else special with the cum in your ass?" said Sam. The young wife still rested on one beautiful cheek, with her ass up in the air. Sam slipped a mid-sized dildo into her hand. "I couldn't get a good shot with my best camera when you had that incredible anal orgasm earlier." Now he got his mouth down close to her ear again and put some extra growl into his voice. "I want that picture. I want to capture you trembling in passion from fucking your own, cum-filled ass. It sounded so sexy when you said you loved having things in your ass and it looked and felt beyond sexy when your virgin anus clamped down on my hard cock."

The defiled young woman could only manage to groan and whimper in delight as Sam brought back her outrageous words and actions. Again she wondered why she ever thought there was something wrong with that kind of action and behavior before. Now she could hardly wait to give her ass to her husband too.

Sam slipped off the end of the bed and reset the video camera just off to the side a bit as he kept talking to So-Young. "Mrs. Lee, my cum is running from your tight ass, down to your beautiful pussy." She heard his SLR camera click. "What do you think about starting with the dildo in your pussy, then pushing the cum back up your perineum and into your ass? Do you think that's a picture you and John would like?"

"Show me!" she suddenly said.

Sam walked around the side of the bed as he brought the last pictures up on the viewfinder screen. He leaned across and held the camera so the hot Korean could see. He cycled through the three shots he'd taken of the line of cum connecting her anus to her cunt. "That's just the kind of sensuous image I knew I'd get working with you," he cooed. "Is it what you were hoping for?"

"Oh, yes," she gushed. "It's really hot and you make my naughty bits look so pretty."

"That's because they are pretty, So-Young. Pretty and hot and horny. Show me now how hot and horny they look with a dildo in them. Give yourself a good fuck, Mrs. Lee. Show Mr. Lee what you want him to do with his cock." Sam pulled the camera away and retook his position behind his bewitched model.

The Korean beauty arranged herself to allow for the easiest penetration and then went to work with the dildo just as Dolan had directed. She rubbed it over her clit a few times; then dragged the tip up between her labia until she was lined up with her vagina, where she pushed. Sam's camera clicked all along the way.

She poked her cunny for several strokes and then slowly pulled it out and dragged the tip upwards with a bit of sideward slant. "Yes," Sam said. "You have a nice gob of goo there." His camera clicked. When she reached her rosebud, she began teasing it with the tip of the dildo. Soon after, she had the first inches inside and then she got down to seriously fucking herself.

"That looks so good," Dolan encouraged her. "Your pretty asshole is just swallowing it up and the cum is beautifully messy.

"Your cock felt better," So-Young grunted. "But this is good. You made my asshole so slippery with your spunk; I love shoving it inside me." She had the toy buried all the way to its testes-shaped handle and twisted it around.

"These pictures are going to be incredible," the photographer cheered. "You make the perfect cock-hungry ass-slut!"

Mrs. Lee was once again a near-gibbering volcano of desire. "Ass-slut, yes," she grunted. "Pound, pound ass." The dildo was flying in and out. "Virgin ass, slut ass, fuck, fuck, fuck;� And then she was screaming and creaming and squirting from her pussy. Sam caught it all and cursed again that his pecker took so long to recharge. He was going to have to score some Viagra.

Chapter Thirty-Four.

Morgana looked over the jewelry sale receipt that Dylan had recovered from the office upstairs in the AG store. "Well, it looks like we might have had a little luck anyway. I don't recognize this liquidator as someone involved with Ludwig or any of his Amorous Enterprises."

"Amorous enterprises," sighed Vikki. "Why couldn't he just have left me a Victoria's Secret franchise at the mall?"

Dylan laughed. "Vikki, Victoria, nicely ironic. Heck, you'd have the most successful Victoria's Secret store ever if you could sprinkle just a little AG magic over everything."

"Yeah," his faux-cousin said. "Hot pants that really make you hot and Wonder Bras that lift your libido along with your boobs."

The Delacroix Witch smiled slightly, glad to have her hesitant partners climbing out of their guilty depression.

"So, I guess the next step is to call the liquidator and hope she hasn't resold everything. Then we'll just have to come up with the money to rebuy the monkeys and anything else that's enchanted," said Vikki.

"Man, that's going to be tough," said Dylan. "That was months ago and most of that money has been spent on other recovery missions."

"Well, imagine how much more money it would take to buy those things back from people who actually know what they are?" Vikki responded. Dylan nodded in agreement. Then Vikki added, "In fact I'm surprised that stuff, and lots more, wasn't scooped up by old AG partygoers who do know about the charms."

"Well, if I remember correctly," said Dylan, "the lady who took the jewelry just happened to be in town at the estate sale of some rich old woman who passed away just before Ludwig. In fact, I think she heard about his death from someone at the estate sale and popped in here even before our sale was advertised. She obviously knew what she was doing when she looked over the jewelry and made an offer that was well within the price range I'd been thinking about, so I was glad to make a quick, first sale."

Morgana said, "I think our own quick, first steps now should be for Dylan to call the liquidator and find out what she still has, what she's sold, and who she sold it to, while Vikki and I look over Ludwig's records and put together a priority list of what is most critical for us to recover."

"And I take it the Three Horny Monkeys are at the top of the list." said Vikki.

Chapter Thirty-Five.

Sam and So-Young were once again curled up on the sofa reviewing photographs. She had showered in the small bathroom in the corner of the studio and was back in her street clothes, although she hadn't put on her brassiere and her blouse remained unbuttoned. Sam played almost absentmindedly with her sweet tits, while So-Young scrolled through the images on the laptop screen.

She was going through the final scenes, where she'd dildo-fucked herself to another anal orgasm. The pictures were dirty and hot, but still artistic, showing Sam really knew what he was doing. She paused at one where he'd changed his angle to clearly show the three monkeys bouncing on her wrist as she reamed herself.

"The Sam Dolan trademark," she chuckled. "See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Just a lot of wickedness." She turned her head toward him and the two shared a deep, exploring kiss. "Should I tell my husband that the white stuff is your spunk?" she asked with her own 3-monkey wickedness.

"Hmm," the little man considered. "I think it might be best if you hold off on that for a little while at least. First just show him the main album I put together for you and we'll keep this one in your private extra album. See how he takes everything in the main album and then decide if you want to share the other one or save it for your own private moments."

"My extra private album? How much more are you going to charge me for that?" she said in a teasing tone. "Aren't I already paying you enough for fucking all my holes and turning me into an exhibitionist slut?"

"Yes, yes you are," he agreed with a chuckle. "But I meant what I said about you being an exceptional model and I'll add the extra album for free because I enjoyed working with you so much." He gave her tit a harder squeeze as he went in for another hot kiss.

"Well, I suppose we may as well get the business stuff over with," she said sadly, when he finally pulled away. "I've been here much longer than I expected and I still want to get home before John comes home from work."

They moved to his desk and took the seats where they'd started their day together. When So-Young put her hands on the desk she realized she was still wearing the lovely antique bracelet. She reached out to undo the clasp, but Sam suddenly put his hand on top of hers.

"Leave it for now," he said.

"Don't want me to see any evil in the contract?" she asked.

Sam froze a moment, she was exactly right, but did she really know it?

So-Young picked the contract up off the desk and rifled quickly through the pages. "This isn't the same contract you gave me to look at before, is it?"

It finally struck Sam that the young woman was smiling as she said it and looking at him with a glint of mischief in her eye. She was still on board the monkey train.

"No, it's not," the photographer answered the model/client's question. "Your pictures are going to be so hot, so sexy, so classic, that I think we should share them with others. That will be easiest if I just keep control of the whole process, so we'll use my usual contract for when I hire a model, but slightly modified to say that you hired me."

"So, I paid you to control me in the studio and I'm paying you to control me afterwards?"

Dolan took So-Young's hands in his, brought them to his lips for a kiss, then stared directly into her eyes. "Mrs. Lee, you needed someone to control you, didn't you?" He felt her grip tighten. "And you've been happy with my control, haven't you?" She nodded shyly. "In fact, today you've both let loose of your control, while somehow also taking more control over your own pleasure, and you've loved both of those feelings, haven't you?"

"Yes," his unsuspecting victim finally answered. "I never would have done any of the things we did today without you. I might say you made me do them, but that doesn't feel right. It feels more like you just made me understand there was no reason not to try them and no reason not to just relax and enjoy them fully."

"I'm glad you feel that way," the deviant photographer said. "It means I did that part of my job properly and helped you be the terrific model I knew you could be. And with this contract I'll be able to do the rest of my job properly and make you a famous model as well."

"Famous? So, my 'private' photos won't be private? The sexy photos that were meant only for my husband will be seen by other men?"

"And women," Sam said firmly. "Some of them will want to be with you and others will want to be like you, free and confident."

A thought suddenly struck So-Young. "Have you made Chae-Won famous?" Remembering how sexually-charged her friend had seemed ever since her own photo session with Sam Dolan, So-Young realized that Chae-Won must have had an experience like hers.

"Yes," answered Sam with a little hesitation.

"Show me," said So-Young.

Now Sam really had to pause and think. No model had ever seen the true results of her work with Sam before he had their signature on a contract and it was their own image they saw up on the Web; too late to put the genie back in the bottle. If So-Young saw her friend posted as a visual sex toy for sale, would it cause her to refuse to sign her own model release? Or would it be more damaging to his efforts if he refused to show Mrs. Lee the pictures of Mrs. Park that So-Young obviously knew were out there?

Sam looked down at the desktop to get away from So-Young's demanding eyes and there he saw his answer. The monkeys on the bracelet looked especially cheeky just then and Sam knew he should keep going with them instead of doing anything counter to their mantra. He raised his eyes back up to his new model's. "Of course."

Sam pulled his laptop over, raised the cover and followed a bookmark to the teaser section of "Sam's Monkey house". After a couple of keystrokes to get to Chae-Won's collection, he turned the laptop around to face So-Young. There were two chairs on her side of the desk and Sam moved around to sit next to her.

At this level of access, the models' faces were not visible; they were facing away or were out of the frame or Sam had covered them with a blurred oval. He started a slideshow that walked through Chae-Won's various lingerie poses.

So-Young and Chae-Won regularly took saunas together at the local swim center, so she recognized her friend's body. Of course, her girlfriend didn't usually squeeze her tits together and hold them out to So-Young while they sat sweating, so that was a new way of thinking of her friend.

So-Young suddenly reached out and hit the spacebar to pause the slideshow. "I wore that outfit today too, didn't I?"

"Yes." Sam said. "And you looked at least as hot as she does, if not hotter."

"Did you fuck her too? There, on the same bed where you fucked me?"

Sam took the young woman's chin in his fingers and turned her face toward his. "Yes," he said firmly. "I fucked you both in the same bed."

"Show me," she said again.

Sam jumped up to the third level in the site and slowly walked through a series of shots that showed Chae-Won on hands and knees on the bed, ass to the camera, pussy wide open. In the last three photos, his cock entered the frame, entered the woman's cunt, and then buried itself to the hilt.

"It's making my pussy wet again," sighed So-Young. "Does it make other people's pussies wet?"

"Or their cocks hard, yes, that's what people tell me," Sam replied.

"And will I make their cocks hard?"

"Very hard," he assured her. "Rock hard."

The corrupted housewife pulled the contract to her and picked up the pen that lay atop of it. She initialed each page as Sam had told her earlier and then signed the final page. She closed the document and pushed it and the pen to the far side of the desktop.

"Did you fuck her on this desk?" she asked Sam.

The photographer blinked, confused. "Um, no."

"Good. Then you can fuck me on this desk and I'll be one up on Chae-Won." It was a good thing the monkey had his eyes covered, because there was definitely an evil-looking smile on So-Young's face.

Sam had been feeling twinges of life in his crotch as they had been looking through Chae-Won's photos on the website and now there was a definite lurch. "Yes," he said. "Let's put you one up on Mrs. Park." And he did.

Chapter Thirty-Six.

A half hour later, Dylan came back down into the AG basement archive. "Any luck down here?" he asked the women.

"Yes," answered Vikki. "Fortunately, it looks like Ludwig acquired all the pieces we sold to the liquidator in three batches, so a few more of the items were on the list we started with. Then Morgana had ideas of when the other things had shown up at AG and those dates helped us find the other two inventories. And so far, it does appear that the three-monkey bracelet is indeed the most critical item we need to recover."

"Good, because that's where I put most of my effort with Jill, the estate liquidator. As we figured, she wasn't too keen on just giving out information about her own customers, but ironically, we apparently were the ones who sent the guy who bought the bracelet to her."

Vikki said, "You mean somebody showed up here looking for the bracelet back then? Why didn't you say so earlier?"

Dylan raised his hands in defense. "No, it didn't go down that way. He never brought up the bracelet or any jewelry specifically

Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys Part 2

Tenth Amendment — Fri, 05 Jun 2026 19:15:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys � Part 2

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil."

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

Continuing from Part 1.

Chapter Fifteen.

'Arising from its charm? WTF?' Sam had thought at the time. But old Freitag had sure been right, the photographer remembered now. Everyone had been very happy indeed with the pictures he'd taken that night.

"How about we look at some of the images we've captured so far?" Sam said to So-Young. He grabbed his laptop and a cable from his desk, and then took a seat next to her on the sofa. Her nipples looked ready to cut glass and he could positively smell her musky sex, but he'd learned to take it slow and really build up the legitimate aspects of what they were doing together so that what followed would come naturally, with no hesitation or regret.

Sam connected his camera to the laptop and booted up the viewer. He nodded at a throw pillow beside her, which the young model placed on her naked lap. Sam put the computer on the pillow. Whatever image he brought up for review in the camera viewfinder, she would see displayed on the computer screen.

"You have been magnificent," he told her. "One of my best models ever. I know we have many pictures you and your husband are going to love. But we'll take a quick look through to make sure we have everything you want in this setting or if maybe a certain pose should be re-done for whatever reason. Okay?"

So-Young glowed at the praise and nodded. As the pictures slowly rolled across the computer screen, she felt the warmth in her lower belly growing even stronger as she saw her body through his eyes. The first shots were in her own red baby dolls and So-Young thought she looked very nervous and unsure of herself, more like a teenager than a 24-year old woman, but Sam was praising the images.

"You look so sweet and innocent here," he purred. "But your outfit and the way you hold your beautiful body are on the edge of dirty." He turned his head to look into her eyes. "Are you a young innocent, about to give yourself to your first lover? Or a dangerous Lolita about to take away a married man's fidelity?"

The young wife blushed and re-examined the photos with Sam's perspective. As they progressed, she had changed outfits a few times, each one somehow more risqu� than the ones before. The looks on her face also changed, following the same progression from innocent interest to carnal desire.

Then suddenly she realized the photos they were looking at now showed her completely unclothed. They were the last ones they'd shot, since she'd done her beauty poses for him. She was naked in them, just as she was naked now; but she was also somehow more than just nude. Her head raised from the monitor and looked at him with a hint of doubt.

"You're surprised at how comfortable you feel, aren't you?" he crooned. He'd been on the lookout for the doubt and was ready. "I have to say how impressed I am with your poise, with your confidence. You truly carry yourself like a professional. Yes, a professional. I almost feel like I should be paying you for this session, not the other way around."

A smile began to creep across her face. "I did say 'almost'," he offered with a small laugh. "I'm afraid I'll still need my fee." The humor did the trick and all doubt left her. She returned her gaze to the screen.

There were full body shots from high and low, close ups of her ass from side and back, shots of her thick bush with a light aimed directly at it to show its texture and the shine of the wetness building beneath, and many angles of the tits that she secretly feared were too small, but now looked absolutely perfect. She especially liked some where he'd had her caress or hold her tits and you could clearly see the three jade monkeys dangling over tit and nipple.

'No Ludwig Freitag to stop me from taking pictures of the treasure now,' Sam thought as he looked at what had become one of his signature shots.

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil," So-Young said softly, almost like a mantra.

Chapter Sixteen.

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil." Sam remembered hearing Mrs. Terwilliger saying the same thing to Mr. Terwilliger while he moved in to get pictures of their faces so close, so loving, so romantic in the midst of so much debauchery.

"Exactly," the husband had replied. "I see no evil, only beauty. I hear no evil, only words of desire. And what we speak cannot be evil, because it comes from our hearts."

Romantic words to go with the romantic kisses, Sam had thought, wishing he had a video camera. He'd suggested bringing one, since he'd shot video of the Terwilligers in their home. But Freitag had said no, it was too easy to capture inadvertent images and too hard to find and delete them afterward. Maybe on a future visit, Sam had thought, if I can prove myself this time.

He'd gotten back to proving himself with his camera, but he'd really had to work at it because he kept getting caught up in the words between the Terwilligers.

"Has it felt good; has it been exciting?" The Mister asked while staring into his wife's eyes.

"Yes," was all the Missus said.

Sam noticed the bank officer had his hand on the kindergarten teacher's wrist; the same wrist with the bracelet. In fact, his hand was covering most of it and Sam took the chance to get a shot he hoped would pass Freitag's censorship; there were just a few links of silver in one area, and just enough of one jade monkey to know it was the one with its hands over its mouth.

"And there's nothing wrong with that, is there?" the man continued.

"No," she answered. Sam thought she sounded a bit hypnotized at first, but then she repeated, "No," in a strong, clear voice. "There is nothing wrong with that at all." A full smile broke across her face.

"It's been good to watch all these wonderful people making love and now it's going to be even better to take part; to enjoy the pleasure around us."

"I've wanted to for a long time," she admitted. "And I'm ready." She paused. "Are you ready?" she asked with a slightly sinister tone.

Mr. Terwilliger didn't have the charmed bracelet to banish his doubts, but he'd committed them to this step. "Yes. Shall I ask the first stranger to fuck you?" Of course, they weren't really strangers, but that was the play they'd scripted.

"No," she answered, drawing a look of surprise from her husband. "I want the biggest one first, not the smallest one." The banker raised one eyebrow. The teacher carried on. "Instead of building up to the biggest one, I want to start with him, and then challenge myself to squeeze down on the smallest even after I'm fucked out." The look on her face was indescribably wanton and sensuous and challenging and Sam still thought it might be the best image he'd ever captured. A giant enlargement of that face, with that look, now hung on his bedroom wall, looking at him every night.

Chapter Seventeen.

Looking now at the exotic Asian beauty of the young Mrs. Lee, Sam wondered if he might not have a chance to capture another perfect moment.

"Exactly," the duplicitous photographer responded to his bewitched model. "I see no evil, only beauty. I hear no evil, only words of desire. And what we speak cannot be evil, because it comes from our hearts." Sam had stolen this line from Mr. Terwilliger (although he suspected Terwilliger had stolen it first from Freitag) and used it often with his models.

Sam took the computer from So-Young's lap and disconnected it from his camera as he walked to his desk. When he returned to the sofa, he snatched the pillow off her lap with a flourish and a smile and tossed it aside. He reached out, took her hand and raised her to her feet.

He stood close in front of her and So-Young realized viscerally how much she towered over him, even though she was only 5' 6". She'd never had this perspective on a grown man before and found it remarkably sexy and powerful. She played the role of the man and bent down to kiss him. She hadn't kissed a man other than her husband this way for almost four years, but she didn't feel guilty. She just felt horny.

Sam reveled in the passion of her kiss and almost lost his way. The charm had worked and she was his and he was more than ready to take her. Fortunately, he still had his camera in his hand and when it bumped up against the woman's naked thigh during their kiss, he remembered that he had much more to do with John Lee's wife before he fucked her.

Sam Dolan pulled back, still holding the Korean beauty's hand in his. "Come my dear," he said softly as he led her over to the bedroom part of the set.

So-Young couldn't believe the man's self-control and will power and it just made her want to give up her own control and submit to his will even more. She padded obediently behind him to the edge of the double bed.

The man stroked her tits and belly as he said, "Your husband is going to love the pictures we've taken so far. But you know he'll really lose his mind when he sees your beautiful body laid out on a bed for his pleasure, won't he?"

This little word play served a dual purpose for Sam. He'd found that every reference back to the original plan appeared to make it easier for his victims to think that whatever outrageous thing he asked them to do next, it fit properly into that plan. The other purpose was for his alibi tape. Sam had a couple of wide-angle video cameras in the ceiling that covered the entire set. Their microphones were mated to other mics by the sofa and bed. If anyone ever challenged him on the authenticity of a wayward wife's model release signature on his full-ownership/full-use contract, all he had to do was show them the video of the wife agreeing to everything; all in the name of pleasing her husband.

"Yes, yes he will," So-Young said honestly. She could easily imagine her husband John taking her on their marital bed, with the Boudoir album lying open alongside them so he could be sure she was in the same position as in the photos. It made her pussy tingle even more and she wished John was here right now so Sam could take photos of them making love.

Then, Sam's finger was inside her wet pussy and So-Young's imagination took another leap; to where John took Sam's camera to take pictures of her fucking another man. When the little man slipped a second finger inside her, So-Young grabbed the back of his head and pulled his mouth to her tit. He suckled as he finger-fucked her and the enchanted wife felt an orgasm building up inside her.

Then suddenly Sam was gone and So-Young felt desperately empty. He marched over to where her original red satin baby doll lay on a chair and tossed it at her. She barely managed to capture the outfit against her torso; her eyes were wide, wanting Sam's touch, his direction.

"Put that on," he growled, struggling to hold himself back from attacking the dripping pussy. But he put the attention on her, to build up her own passion. "You liked my fingers inside of you, didn't you?" She eagerly nodded yes. "But that wouldn't be enough for you would it?" She looked a bit perplexed. "What do you want even more than my fingers?"

A smile grew on her face. "Your cock!" she declared. "Won't you give it to me?"

His return smile was decidedly more evil than hers. "Oh yes, yes I will. But we need other images first. I know that once I give you my cock, I won't be able to see straight and so won't be able to take any more pictures. And you want more pictures for your portfolio, don't you?"

So-Young was very pleased to know that Sam thought she'd fuck him cross-eyed, but he was such a strong man, such a professional about his photography, and she knew he was right, she did want more pictures for her album. More naughty pictures to show her husband. And her friend Chae-Won, she thought suddenly. That would be a whole other type of fun to compare photos with her sexy friend. She kept smiling as she put on the baby-doll she'd brought from home.

For the next 30 minutes Sam posed her on the bed in the red satin and in the other outfits she'd worn in the "living room." But this time each set ended up with her more exposed; finding different ways to pull the fabric of the outfits either up into her soaking wet crack, or away from her straining nipples or cutely wrinkled asshole. The last shots captured So-Young's face and body straining in orgasm as she frantically played with herself through a set of crotchless panties.

Now she eyed Sam's crotch with almost ravenous hunger, but he forced a bottle of mineral water into her hand and told her to take a drink and then put on the red satin baby doll again.

"No more wine?" she asked, though that wasn't what she was really frustrated about.

"We want to be relaxed, not sloppy," he replied. Another link in the alibi tape; 'No, he hadn't gotten her drunk and taken advantage.' So-Young did what she was told.

Sam walked over to a shelf against the wall and returned with a plastic box. He pulled off the lid and she saw it was full of different types of sex toys and lubricants. "It's time for the next stage," he told her in his firm, masterful voice. He brought over a video camera mounted on a tripod and set it up pointing at her sitting on the edge of the bed in her red pajamas with their wet stains. He turned it on.

He picked up his still camera and started taking more pictures of her as he spoke. "We've taken the "safe" photos you can show your friends and the "exposed" photos you can show your nastier friends. Now we're going to take some toy photos that will make your husband really excited. Then we're going to take the pictures with the real cock. It's up to you if you share those with John."

Sam moved so he was in front of and just to the side of the video camera, so she was almost looking into it as she looked at him. "And we're going to add video, to really capture your pleasure and excitement. Is that what you want, baby?" Sam demanded. "Do you want me to take photos and videos of you fucking yourself with your fingers? With toys? With another man's cock?"

She began doing the first thing, pulling the crotch of her pajama bottom to the side and jamming her fingers inside her cunt before answering. "Yes! Fingers, toys and cock! I want you to record it all, to take pictures of everything."

"Did you know you wanted to be an exhibitionist before? Have you ever wanted your husband to show you off in public? Or take dirty pictures of you and put them on the Internet?"

"Oh, my God!" the bewitched young woman cried out. "I've never done that, never talked about it. But you're right, I do want to. God, the idea is so exciting." Her fingers were flying over her clit. "Let people watch me. Let them know what a slut I am! Ah ah ah," she screamed in another orgasm.

Sam was feeling golden. He didn't plan on her, or especially her husband, ever finding out what he was going to do with her photos and video, but even if they did, this last little bit would make it very clear it was all with her consent and even desire. And of course, he wouldn't ever have to tell them that the consent had been obtained fraudulently by his three magic monkeys

Chapter Eighteen.

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil," said Morgana Delacroix to her two young partners in the basement of the Amorous Goods mansion. "What does it mean to you?"

Vikki answered first, with her undergraduate studies in history and a graduate degree and experience in archiving academic and literary collections. "Most people tie it back to ancient China and the teachings of Confucius and/or Buddhism. Either way, we know it best in the west with its treatment in Japan after Buddhist monks introduced the maxim. And all of that boils down to living properly. Not taking part in evil or looking for it in others. Don't pre-judge, don't blindly accept bad things you hear; really look and listen and learn. And don't speak evilly about other people and ideas, even if you don't agree with them."

Dylan's degree was in the much more pragmatic school of business and his post-graduate studies had been in the cold-blooded arena of deal-making and profit-taking. He laughed. "Gee, I always thought it was more a code of silence, like among the Mafia. 'Sorry, Officer, I didn't see anything, I didn't hear anything, and I'm not saying anything.'"

Morgana smiled ruefully. "You two have framed it perfectly. From Vikki's side, imagine a bracelet with a light charm to help its wearer have a more open mind, not be judgmental of people different from her, and to be more open minded to new images, sounds and ideas. A very nice charm, intended for good.

But over on Dylan's side, what if that charm was corrupted so that the wearer started to lose her sense of right and wrong? What she saw and heard while wearing the bracelet never seemed evil. And she wouldn't say anything to stop those acts. She might not even say anything after taking the bracelet off, because they'd never registered as evil actions."

"How far could it go?" Dylan asked worriedly. "Is it like the hypnotist we talked about earlier? You can still only push a person up to their personal limit, but not beyond?"

"I think that's why Ludwig put in that question mark in the ledger," the occultist replied. "I don't think he knew how far past their normal limits a person would go. Remember that even a non-evil enchantment can make people admit to and act upon fantasies they'd never really considered before; like the charmed lingerie. But a truly cursed item could potentially make the wearer think there was nothing wrong with murder. Or since Ludwig specialized in erotica, that there was nothing wrong with rape. Even their own. It could turn a person into a monster or a monster's victim."

Chapter Nineteen.

Sam went into a frenzy of activity; switching between still and video cameras. He had So-Young use the different toys in different positions and different outfits. He had a mental checklist of special requests he'd received from subscribers and tried to fill as many of those as he could because they would bring in the biggest tips.

He had her talk about craving her husband's cock for one audience and then belittle John's cock for another audience. He kept letting her know how beautiful, how sexy, how professional she was and how good she was doing with her photo shoot; her completely normal photo shoot.

She'd never deep-throated a cock, but now she'd taken three different sized dildoes. The same was true for her ass. Sam had learned he could get anyone to give up their ass at least once, but if getting past that initial uncertainty and fear didn't develop some true pleasure from the act, it was better to let it go, rather than risk breaking the spell. So-Young clearly had been raised to believe it was tabo

Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys Part 1

Tenth Amendment — Thu, 04 Jun 2026 19:13:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: Three Horny Monkeys � Part 1

If nothing is evil, then it's All Good at Amorous Goods

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

At Amorous Goods

Chapter One.

Vikki Friday pulled a box off one of the floor-to-ceiling shelves that ran in rows across the basement of the Amorous Goods mansion and carried it over to a large oak work table. She took off the lid and was hit with the comfortably familiar scents of decaying paper and fountain ink one always found in older archives. The long unopened box also had a dusty odor, which was another normal element she'd come to expect when wading into a neglected collection like this. Except, the dusty odor she'd found in the Amorous Goods archive was unlike any she'd ever encountered before. It was spicy or smoky or flowery; she could never decide, because it always seemed to be shifting. Sometimes she wished she could bottle it as a perfume {Or an aphrodisiac! declared her Inner Voice.}, because it was so heady. Other times she immediately wanted to put the lid back on the box because the scent was more frightening than arousing {Brimstone!}.

Her newest partner in this bizarre venture, Morgana Delacroix, said the odors were a by-product of the spell or curse that lay over so many of the items that Vikki's far-distant and now-deceased uncle, Ludwig Freitag, had collected. Ludwig had assembled an incredible variety of items, ranging from rare manuscripts and Louis the sixteenth furniture to first editions of Playboy magazine and furnishings from Fannie Porter's Texas brothel where Butch Cassidy was a favored guest. But ancient or modern, classy or trashy, everything was united by a theme of love, romance, or sex. According to Morgana, one of Uncle Ludwig's specialty areas was erotic enchantments, and items imbued with one of these enchantments raised powerfully amorous feelings in the people who used them. Vikki had naturally scoffed at such ideas at first and jokingly called the older woman Morgan le Fay for her witchy beliefs. But ever since the time Vikki had found herself apparently overcome by that musky "amorous" odor and succumbing to its influence, she'd had to temper her usual academic's skepticism.

Vikki felt a warm feeling creep through her as she remembered that episode. She'd been here alone in this very room, like now. She'd opened one of the older specimen cases and found it held a collection of antique dildoes. The scent that had blossomed out when she removed the lid had hit her like walking into an Amsterdam coffee shop. An Amsterdam coffee and florist shop, she amended. {A French whore's bedroom inside an Amsterdam coffee and flower shop!}

By the time the ventilation system had cleared enough of the odor away to allow Vikki to regain her senses, she'd found herself lying on this very table. Her skirt was up around her waist, her panties were hanging from one ankle, and she had two of the antique sex toys inside her, still moving slowly in and out as she came down from the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced just from masturbation.

The ventilation fan in the ceiling kicked in just then, bringing Vikki out of her reverie. {That weak, old ventilation fan? You know it didn't save you from the fumes.} No, each time she'd thought about that episode, she'd become more certain that while the intoxicating odor had made her head swim and made her want to touch the dildoes, {And their touch had led to the rest}, it was only her orgasm itself that had finally broken the spell.

Vikki hadn't told Morgana or her business partner Dylan about the episode with the unusual artefacts. {You mean the magic dildoes?} She'd simply cleaned them off (after putting on heavy rubber gloves over latex gloves), put them back in their box and moved them to the large walk-in vault that they'd found in the sub-basement. When she'd updated the collection inventory, Dylan had asked how she'd known the pieces were among the special items that required locking away. She'd simply said that the paperwork in the box with the antiques had been clear enough. Morgana had looked at her suspiciously, but thankfully hadn't pressed her on the subject.

Now Vikki literally shook her head and looked into the open box on the table. Just papers here, no ebony or ivory cockes to entice an unattached archivist. Pulling on white cotton gloves, she brought out the pages of the first item and spread them across the table. She would appraise the item and enter it into the growing index of Amorous Goods holdings on her laptop. She needed this; a good old-fashioned session of appraising and cataloguing. Something mundane and pedestrian to help her re-center her mind after their most recent artefact recovery mission.

Chapter Two.

Vikki had been sorting through the papers in the box for about half an hour when she heard the door from the upstairs open. That was followed by footsteps coming down the stairs and soon Dylan was standing by her side. "The shop's all locked up for the night, Cousin. Can I interest you in a glass?" He held up a bottle of red wine he'd carried down with him.

The two young people didn't share a bloodline, but family marriage ties had brought them together as kids, when they'd spent several summers together and "cousins" was what the grownups called them. When Vikki had needed someone's help managing the expansive business inheritance left to her out of the blue almost a year ago now, she'd naturally turned to her 'cousin' Dylan.

"Sure," she said, peeling off her cotton gloves. "How was business today?"

Since they could no longer hastily liquidate Amorous Goods or the AG as they'd taken to calling it, they had to keep the business going and this had become their division of labor. Vikki worked as quickly as she could to curate the terribly disorganized collection of items spread across the classic 19th-century robber-baron mansion, trying to determine what was safe to sell or display and what needed to be moved down here to the basement or locked in the sub-basement. Dylan kept the antique store on the ground floor of the converted mansion, as well as the boutique hotel known as The Amorous Inn on the upper floors, open, bringing in revenue they needed to stay on top of taxes, utilities and the expenses of recovering items they had sold in ignorance early on.

Dylan chuckled as he retrieved a corkscrew and glasses from a small galley installed in a corner of the basement. "Apparently, your Uncle Ludwig wasn't the only old pervert in these parts." He paused as he uncorked the bottle and poured out two generous balloons.

Even after several months, it was still hard for Vikki to reconcile that the young man she'd grown up with as a cousin, wasn't really a blood relative, while some old German 'Casanova-wannabe', as she thought of him, was. Second uncle, thrice-removed or some such nonsense, but Ludwig Freitag had known the link between the Friday and the Freitag branches of the family tree and had left his odd estate to his distant niece Vikki.

Dylan continued his story as he handed Vikki a glass. "We had an entire busload of senior citizens up from the city; I think they actually came from two or three different retirement homes."

Vikki's jaw dropped open as she accepted her wine. "You're kidding, right?"

Dylan lifted his glass up in a silent toast and said, "I kid you not," before taking a long sip. "Blue hair, liver spots, walkers and canes...and before you ask, no, they weren't here by accident. Naughty old Amorous Goods was one of the main stops on their itinerary." He took another sip, trying to wash away the memory of shriveled old ladies cooing over the life-sized molds of Famous Cocks in History.

"May we have that sort of energy in 50 years," Vikki said, raising her own glass in toast to libidos that were not willing to go gentle into that good night.

"How about you?" Dylan asked. "Any more possessed lingerie we need to recover before the new owners turn into streetwalkers?"

"No, thank God." She shivered, remembering how close the wives of a nearby town's mayor and sheriff had been to sexually servicing a bunch of guys at a muscle car convention after they'd picked up some risqu� outfits that had made their way from the AG to a costume shop in the city.

"But I have come across an inventory sheet that lists and describes some of the pieces we sold to that jewelry liquidator in one of the first lots we sent out the door," Vikki said.

"Okay, I remember that one," replied Dylan. "It was like nine or ten nice antique pieces that didn't scream, 'I came from a whorehouse!' right?" Vikki nodded and Dylan continued. "I thought they were just nice jewelry that Ludwig and his cronies used as normal bribes to get sex from women. Please don't tell me they were cursed too? We got a decent price for those and can't really afford to have to buy them back."

Vikki still had trouble using the word 'cursed', but was also still unable to offer any more rational explanations for things like two town matrons in their forties or fifties offering to let a dozen or more car collectors fuck them in the back seats of each of their cars. {Or a strait-laced archivist giving herself a dildo DP right here on this table.}

Chapter Three.

Vikki took a sip of wine to collect herself and heard the upstairs door opening again. It was Morgana Delacroix. {Speaking of older women who could still rock a Madonna bustier hard enough to get conventioneers to shell out a few hundred dollars for a rumble in the back of their old 55.}

"Perfect timing," Vikki said to their mentor in the Arcanum of bewitched erotica as she made her elegant way down the stairs. "I was just telling Dylan about some new information I've come across that I'm having trouble understanding."

Dylan poured out another glass of wine and handed it to Morgana when she reached the table. The enigmatic beauty smiled her thanks and took a sip. Her smile widened. "Dylan, my dear, you've been reading those vintner books I gave you, haven't you? This is delicious."

{He's blushing!} Vikki was going to have to talk to Dylan. Yes, they'd had to quickly take Morgana in as a quasi-partner because of her experience and expertise, but they really still knew very little about her. {Jealous? her pesky voice asked. He's not a blood-cousin after all, and he is pretty studly.} Vikki tamped the voice down.

"So;� the archivist proffered. "I've been looking for information about more of the stuff we sold from the store and the Inn before we knew the...um...risks. Well, today I came across some inventory lists and recognized a couple of pieces of jewelry that Dylan and I sold as part of a larger lot to a liquidator soon after we took over the AG."

A look of concern came into Morgana's face. "Anything dangerous?"

"That's what's got me confused," replied Vikki. She slid one of the sheets she'd been examining over to the edge of the table so the other two could read it. "This is an inventory list of small pieces, like jewelry and some of the curios we've seen on shelves all around the mansion."

"Okay," said Dylan, pointing. "I know these three items are in the store in the Love Potions and Charms display."

"Yes," agreed Vikki. "You see the letter 'S' by each one? That indicates they're in the store. You can also see those three items were apparently all acquired by AG at the same time, some 5 years ago." She pointed to a column of dates.

"And this other date; that's how old the thing is?" asked Dylan. Vikki nodded. "Damn! Each of those weird little things is more than 125 years old!" Dylan exclaimed. To Morgana he said, "The only reason we didn't try to sell those at the beginning is because they were marked with what seemed like such ridiculously high prices that we didn't know their real value or what we should ask. Now that we know they really are truly antique I begin to understand their price tags."

"I suspect," Morgana replied smoothly, "That their cost is about much more than just their age. You see the next column?" She pointed at the paper.

"Yeah," he replied. "What does the letter 'E' mean?"

Fortunately, interpreting someone else's personal shorthand was one of the skills an archivist developed early on in her studies and Vikki answered.

"It appears Ludwig had a system of labelling the, er, status of each item as either Clear, Enchanted, Cursed, or Unknown. You'll notice he used 'K' for Clear, spelling it 'Klar', like in his native German."

Dylan's eyes widened. "All three of those pieces are labelled, Enchanted. Holy shit! You mean they really work? They can really make someone fall in love?"

Morgana answered. "Knowing how precise Ludwig was, I'd say, yes, they all have working love charms on them."

Vikki's eyebrows went up in automatic skepticism. "Love charms?"

Morgana smiled. She knew the younger woman couldn't help herself, but she also knew that Vikki's doubts were being inexorably chipped away by everything she was seeing around her.

"In layman's terms, yes," the occultist said. "Now, how well the charm worked, or for how long, or with what effect could be wildly different. For example, a skilled and subtle practitioner might cause the recipient of a charmed gift to simply be more open to the person who gave them the gift; opening the door for love you might say. On the other hand, a spell applied too heavily or handled improperly, could turn the object of your affections into an obsessed stalker."

"But since these are marked Enchanted rather than Cursed, they shouldn't be too dangerous, right?" asked Dylan.

"Well, in general, that's right. But as we've discussed, even a seemingly benign enchantment can have unintended consequences."

"The Mayor's wife," said Vikki.

"The Mayor's wife," Morgana repeated in agreement.

In the Big City

Chapter Four.

The Mayor's wife wanted to give her husband a special reward for winning his latest election. She enlisted the help of her friend, the Sherriff's wife, whose husband had also been re-elected. Because both men had run on law and order platforms and had made much of their success in getting hookers off the streets of their small, family-friendly town, the two town matrons decided it would be funny and fun to give their husbands a bawdy weekend in the big city. They would tell the men to meet them at a swank hotel for a supposedly normal celebration and then surprise them by acting like their own high-price call girls.

A look through the Yellow Pages led them to an exotic clothing/costume shop near the edge of downtown, where the neighborhood started becoming more disreputable. As the women perused the racks of leather and lace, they found themselves inexorably drawn toward the higher-priced end of the store. They'd seen camisoles, corsets and bustiers in the earlier sections, but the elevation of quality in material and workmanship at this end was obvious even to their unpracticed eyes. It was as if they'd walked from the Walmart Halloween costumes to Madonna's custom stage outfits.

In the end, Mrs. Mayor picked out a crimson corset that gave an hourglass shape to her slightly chubby midriff, but let her big boobs spill over the top deliciously. Mrs. Sheriff was much thinner, with small tits, but her black bustier gave her a breath-taking cleavage, like she'd always envied in Mrs. Mayor. The garments were already partnered with perfectly matched panties, garters, stockings, sheer robes, and for Mrs. Mayor, a bandage strap bra if she didn't want to start with her boobs already hanging out over the top of the corset.

In the end, both women ended up spending far, far more on their costumes than they'd ever imagined. But after handling them and then trying them on in the dressing rooms, there was no way they could deny themselves, or their husbands, the indescribable sensuality of such high-quality lingerie.

As they walked out the door with their shopping bags, the proprietor was congratulating herself on scooping up such wonderful pieces at such bargain prices, and then turning them around with a massive profit. That young couple at Amorous Goods really had had no idea what they were dealing with when they let such special merchandise go at such cheap prices.

When the ladies got back to their hotel, each was eager, almost desperate, to try on her new outfit again. Fortunately, they could see it in each other's eyes, so no fake excuses were needed as they parted ways in the corridor and went to their rooms. Soon the street clothes were off, the whore clothes were on, and two women in their late 40's were touching themselves in front of their mirrored closets.

Then each got the same idea. Her girlfriend hadn't seen her modelling her outfit when they tried them on at the store. It would be good to compare and see if her friend looked as hot as she did.

Mrs. Mayor had quickly discarded the bra when modelling for herself, but thought that for the sake of modesty as she walked down the hall, she should probably put it back on.

Mrs. Sheriff also made a nod to modesty by donning the floor length sheer gown over her bustier, garter belt and thigh-high stockings.

The idea that they were considering outfits from The Rocky Horror Picture Show as modest enough to wear outside their hotel rooms showed just how enchanted their AG outfits really were.

Mrs. Mayor took one last look in the mirror and almost decided to lose the bra again and just let it all hang out. But, in the end, she decided she should wait and take it off for her girlfriend in Mrs. Sheriff's room. Yes, that would give her the whole effect. She grabbed her key card, stepped into the hallway and turned toward her friend's room on the other side of the elevator bank.

Mrs. Sheriff's gown had no fasteners in the front and was cut to hang open just outside her tits, but as she modelled in front of the mirror, she decided to clutch it closed in her hand for now to cover up her new cleavage. Not that she was embarrassed, hell no. But she pictured knocking on Mrs. Mayor's door and when her friend opened up, Mrs. Sheriff would let her robe fall open and she would see her sexy friend's honest, surprised reaction. Mrs. Sheriff was confident it would be a very pleased reaction.

Morgana Delacroix would have said the two sexy outfits were drawn to each other and thus mystically synchronizing the two women's movements, but to Mrs. Sheriff it was just a pleasant surprise when she stepped out of her room and saw Mrs. Mayor in the same position some yards down the hall.

The two women walked toward each other; slowly, sensually, letting the other take her in step by step. Each immediately recognized that her friend was also wearing her new outfit and registered all the sexy details as she came closer. There were two elevators side-by-side in the middle of the hallway and the women stopped just

Amorous Goods: The Victrola Part 2

Tenth Amendment — Wed, 03 Jun 2026 19:12:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: The Victrola � Part 2

An old record player and a ring changes their lives.

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

It was the end of the quarter for us, and I was tied up in meetings and spreadsheets for several days, making sure everything was as it should be. I went over all the expense reports, the balance sheets, and the spreadsheets provided by the various departments. I also spent a lot of time making sure our tax filings were correct, so I didn't have much time at work to do any research on the record player.

I also spent that time watching Terri closely. I noticed some things after a few days. Call it a trend, if you wish. For starters, she always wore that ring on the days she went to the Parker house. I also realized that we never had sex on those days, or most of the other days for that matter, but Never on the days she wore that ring.

I also noticed her temperament was quite different on the days she was at the house. Instead of the carefree, happy woman I married, she seemed distant and sometimes short-tempered. At first, I thought it was the stress of selling the place, but she was always under stress to sell more property, so that couldn't be it. What was so different about those days, I wondered.

I also noticed that she was spending more days at the Parker house than before, and she was coming home later and later. Sometimes, she wouldn't get home before midnight. She always dressed professionally and she never appeared disheveled when she came home. I never said anything because I didn't want to set her off. The few times I asked if everything was okay, she simply said, "just fine," waving me off before she turned and went the other way.

Eventually, the kids began to notice as well. Both of them came to me, asking if there was anything wrong between Terri and me.

"It's just that damn house she's been trying to sell," I told them.

"Well I hope she sells it soon. It's like she's two different people, and I want our old Mom back," April said.

"Yeah, me too," I said.

It was about the middle of October when things settled down at work. By then, I had found what I thought might be a solution to the volume issue. I found a couple websites where people said they used to put socks in the horns to quiet them a bit. According to one site, that's where the phrase, "put a sock in it" came from. Whatever works, I thought, but I didn't want to use anything that might scratch the ornate wooden horn, so I found a nice soft towel and decided to give that a try.

The next day, I put the towel in the horn of the old player and tested it with "Stars and Stripes Forever." Sure enough, it worked like a charm. I could even open the office door as it played and no one was bothered by it. I decided to try it with the unlabeled record during my lunch hour.

When the time came, I grabbed my lunch out of the refrigerator; a sandwich, a banana, a small bag of chips and a Pepsi; packed by myself, since Terri was too busy these days to really care about much except her work. I closed the door, put up my "out to lunch" sign and pulled the shades; a signal to everyone else to leave me alone; and fired up the player.

I had just taken a bite out of my sandwich when I heard the voice of a man with a slight accent come out of the horn.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Thornton," the man's voice said. I nearly spewed Pepsi out of my nose when that happened. I looked at the Victrola, shocked. "Yes, I'm talking to you, Mr. Thornton. Jack, isn't it? May I call you Jack?"

"Uh, yeah, Jack is fine," I said. "And who are you?"

"I'm Jonas Parker," the man said.

"But how can that be?" I asked. "You're dead. Aren't you?"

"It is true that my physical body no longer functions and is what you would call 'dead,' at least on the physical plane you perceive as reality, but the essence of who and what I really am continues on," the man said. "You might call it the soul."

"But how is that possible?" I asked. The man laughed before continuing.

"What was it the Bard once wrote?" Jonas asked. "Ah yes, 'There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' You have no idea how correct he was."

"But how can you be speaking to me through this phonograph?" I asked.

"Because it was once mine," he said. "It was in my home for many years and like so many other things in my home, it has become what you might call enchanted. Or cursed, as the case may be. Although I am glad it is now in the hands of someone who appreciates history as you do. I know it will be well cared for."

"You still haven't answered my question," I said. "HOW is all this possible?"

"Very well," the man said. "I don't have time to explain more than 50 years of work, but I'll give you a brief synopsis. In 1921 an amateur archaeologist named Alfred Watkins discovered that ancient sites around the world, both man-made and natural, seemed to have a form of alignment. When looked at on a map, they seemed to be arranged in straight lines. These lines were later called 'ley lines,' and the points where those lines intersect were thought to be highly charged with pockets of supernatural energy that can be harnessed by some individuals.

"It turns out that my house happens to sit at the intersection of six of these lines. My grandfather was something of a spiritualist in his day, and felt there was something special about the location, so he built the house there, long before Watkins made his discovery. Naturally, I took up his work and traveled the world looking for clues; anything that might give me answers.

"Along the way, I collected a number of artifacts and trinkets that on their own, held some amount of power. But when brought together at that location, their power grew in ways you cannot imagine. I learned to harness the power of those objects for my own benefit. You see, the so-called 'scientific community' wasn't interested in hearing about what men like Watkins had to say. They dismissed it as just so much hokum."

"So I endeavored to prove them all wrong. I spent over a half century collecting and researching. I sold many of the items I collected, but there were others I kept for myself. You wouldn't believe the mountain of information I gleaned. Eventually, I was able to understand nearly all of it, but there was one step I had to take before I could realize my ultimate goal," he said.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I had to let my physical body die," he said. "So I did. And voila, here I am."

"You're mad," I said. He chuckled.

"Perhaps," he said. "I've been called that and much worse, by experts. But consider this. Of the two of us, which one is holding a conversation with a machine?"

"I see your point," I said.

"Each of us has a purpose, Jack," he said. "Mine is to travel the space-time continuum and enjoy whatever is out there. Yours is to raise your two children to be responsible adults. And your wife is fulfilling her purpose even now as we speak."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, my anger rising.

"Oh come on, Jack, surely you know what I'm talking about," he said.

"You mean selling your house?" He laughed out loud.

"Selling it?" he asked. "Heavens no. She's not selling it. She preparing it."

"For what?" I asked. "Quit talking in riddles, dammit!"

"For our return," he said. "My wife was taken from me years ago by a cruel disease. In short, I was robbed of a lifetime of love and happiness. I intend to get that back."

"How do you plan to do that?" I asked. "And what role does my wife play in your scheme?"

"I'm sure you noticed the ring she was given," he said. "The pattern came from an ancient tribe of people who believed the dead could replace the souls of the living. The pattern on that ring makes it possible. Your wife's body will soon host my dear departed wife's soul for good. Haven't you noticed the changes in your wife recently?"

"I have," I said.

"That's because the human mind was not made to house two people," he said. "My wife's soul is slowly taking your wife's body and mind over. In the meantime, she's learning to adapt and use what your wife's body has to offer. And I must say, it's quite exhilarating. Your wife sure knows how to be a wild woman in bed, the way my Annabelle once was."

"And what happens to my wife's soul?" I asked.

"Eventually, it will replace Annabelle's in the great beyond," he said. "Before long, there'll be no need for the ring. When Annabelle gets strong enough, she'll push your Terri out completely."

"You'll never get away with this," I said. He laughed.

"Jack, Jack," he said condescendingly. "Please don't insult my intelligence. Look at the big picture here, will you? There's no way you can stop what has already started. And who would believe you? You'd be sent to a mental institution, and who would be left to care for your children. Hmm? Why not simply accept the inevitable and get on with your life? There are other women out there, you know. Many of them would love to be with someone like you."

"This can't be real," I said quietly.

"Oh, but it is real, Jack," he said. "It's as real as it gets. Look, I'd love to chat some more, but the record finished playing long ago and I really need to get back to what I was doing. I know this is a lot for you to embrace at one time. Terri has left a message for you on one of the records you bought this morning. The label is clearly marked. In the meantime, listen to this;�

His voice went away and was replaced by moaning and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh. I could hear a woman's voice in the background and knew it was Terri.

"Oh God, yes," she moaned. "Fuck my pussy, Master. Keep fucking me. Cum inside my slutty cunt." I heard a man groan out loud and then there were no more sounds. I looked and saw the needle was in the final groove next to the label. How long had it been there, I wondered. Shocked, I lifted the needle and stopped the player.

I pulled the wax record off the turntable and replaced it in its paper sleeve before putting it away. I looked through the other albums carefully and found one with an old RCA label marked, "To Jack From Terri." Strange, I thought. That wasn't there this morning. How could this possibly be? I thought about playing that record, but had another idea. I had a turntable at home that could play 78 RPM albums, so I decided I would take the record home and listen to it there, and if necessary, confront my wife.

I looked at the time and realized my lunch break was nearly over. Could I really have been conversing with a dead man through an old phonograph that long? Stunned and shocked, I tossed the rest of my lunch away and went back to my desk. I called Terri's office, hoping to speak to her.

"Is Terri Thornton available?" I asked the receptionist.

"I'm sorry, Jack, but she's been out all day," the receptionist said. "I don't expect her back until sometime tomorrow. Can I leave a message?"

"No, that's alright," I said. "I'll talk to her later." I ended the call, then pulled out the card and called Vikki.

"Hello, Jack, I was expecting your call," she said. "Would you like to come over so we can talk?"

"Yes," I said. "How did you know I'd be calling?"

"Call it a woman's intuition," she said. "I suggest the sooner you get here the better."

"Okay, I'm coming right over," I said, ending the call. I went to Alan's office. He looked at me and invited me inside. I walked in and closed the door behind me.

"What's the matter, Jack?" he asked. "You don't look too well. Are you feeling alright?"

"I need to take some time off," I said. "Family emergency."

"Well, you've got comp time coming, and we don't have anything pressing, so go ahead. Take a few days and get it under control," he said. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know."

"Thanks, Alan," I said. "I appreciate that." With that, I went back to my office, put the record from Terri in my briefcase and headed out. I decided to drive by the old Parker place to see if she was there. Sure enough, she was. I could see her car along with another parked in front of the house. I couldn't get in because the iron gate at the driveway was closed. I looked but didn't see any signs indicating the place was for sale. Odd, I thought.

From there, I drove straight to Vikki's shop. I was desperate for answers and I hoped she could give me some. When I got there, I went inside and saw her behind the counter. She looked up as I walked inside.

"Good afternoon, Jack," she said. "I assume you want some answers."

"You assume right," I said. She nodded her head, went to the door and locked it, putting up a sign that red, "Closed." She turned back and started walking to the back of the shop, I assumed, where her office was located. She stopped and looked back at me.

"Perhaps you should come with me," she said. I followed her into a small, crowded office with a desk and three chairs. One of the chairs sat in a corner and was covered with an afghan. She invited me to sit in the other chair as she took her place behind her desk.

"I take it you listened to the record with the blank label," she said. I nodded my head.

"You might say that," I said. "More to the point, I had a conversation with the man who recorded that disk. What can you tell me about your uncle?"

"Well, for starters, he was actually my great-uncle; my grandfather's oldest brother," she said. "He held two degrees. One in archaeology and another in history. He got married and taught for a while, but after his wife died of meningitis, he left the college and began exploring the world, collecting artifacts from all over. About 35 years ago, he finally settled back into the old house and opened this place. He never remarried and always talked about how he and his beloved wife would one day be reunited."

"Did he say how that might happen?" I asked. She shook her head.

"No, but he did talk a lot about otherworldly things," she said. "Supernatural things."

"Was he involved with the occult?" I asked. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I can tell you that he was accused of that, more than once, and I can tell you he dabbled in things I never really cared to mess with," she said. I nodded my head in understanding. "Would you like to see a picture of his wife?" she asked.

"Sure," I said. She turned to her computer and pulled up a digitized black and white photograph of a stunningly beautiful woman in her mid-twenties. I looked at the photo in shock. She looked like the spitting image of my Terri. Vikki saw the expression on my face. I pulled out my cell phone and showed her a recent picture of Terri. She looked at it, shocked.

"What's your wife's maiden name?" she asked.

"Hanson," I said. Vikki opened another file on her computer.

"Uncle Jonas was really into genealogy," she said. "He originally had everything on paper, but put it into a computer a few years before he died." She pointed at one entry in a box. "This was his wife; Annabelle. Her maiden name was Simpson and according to this, she had a sister, Freida. We know Annabelle didn't have any children and Uncle Jonas never remarried. Let's follow Freida's line and see what we come up with."

We both examined the screen, following the lines down through the generations. Fortunately, there wasn't much to go through, but Vikki found it and pointed to a box on the screen. I looked and saw it: Terri Ann Hanson. A box next to it was connected with a line and had my name inside. Below that were the names of our children.

"There's your answer," she said. "He was waiting for someone who resembled Annabelle."

"Do you have a picture of your brother on here?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, going back to the pictures folder. She pulled one up and showed it to me.

"How much does he resemble your uncle?" I asked.

"Quite a bit," she said. "His name is Donald. They were quite close."

"Is it possible that your uncle had him give her that ring?" I asked.

"Anything's possible, I guess," she said.

"Did your uncle keep track of the things he picked up over the years?" I asked her.

"Yes," she said. "Mostly for keeping inventory. It's all here in the database. He spent years putting it together."

"Can you search for 'ring' and 'soul' in that database?" I asked.

"Yes I can," she said, pulling up what looked like a custom program built for a database. She entered the search terms and hit enter. There were a few items displayed and most were marked as "sold." The top item, however, caught my eye. It was the exact ring I saw on Terri's hand. Vikki clicked on the item description and we red the entry Jonas had input.

"According to this, he discovered the ring at a dig in central Africa," Vikki said. "Local legend had it that an ancient tribe used a ring like this to commune with the dead. The wearer could supposedly channel the spirit of someone who passed away and even take on some of that person's personality traits. But there's a warning. If worn long enough, the departed spirit could displace the spirit of the person wearing the ring."

"Oh my God," I said. "Did Jonas say anything else? Like, how to reverse the process?"

"He has an entry here that gives a chant," she said. "According to Jonas, it has to be spoken by two females, and one of them has to be related to the person wearing the ring." Terri's mother lived in Florida, and was too far to get here in time. But there was one other person. It was a risk, but if we were ever to get Terri back, it had to be done.

"Would you be willing to help me break that spell?" I asked.

"Yes, I would," she said. "But we need two females. Where are you going to get the other?"

"I'll have to get her out of school," I said. "Print out two copies of that chant if you would please. I have to call the school."

"Okay," she said. As she did that, I called April's school and told them there was a family emergency and I needed to pull her out. They wanted to know the nature of the emergency, and I simply told them it had to do with her mother. The vice principal I spoke to reluctantly agreed and I said I would there shortly. By the time I ended the call, Vikki was finished

Amorous Goods: Rebranded & Victrola

Tenth Amendment — Tue, 02 Jun 2026 19:08:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: Rebranded

Sallybot gives her all for the crew.

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

October 1, 12:01 A.M. Greater Magellanic Spiral near the freshly named planet of Wildhoot. Two trade-named space vehicles have just concluded a deadly confrontation. One continues establishing high orbit, the other falls slowly and inertia-less to the hospitable world below.

The survivors are in a 4th hand Ford Space Explorer, hard used in many wiper years of use but lovingly cared for at last by five friends; they pooled their resources to purchase the tough old battered ship after becoming tired of it all near the clutter of civilization, extremely bored, between jobs, and looking to change their fortunes. Setting ship's time and date to GMT, the good ship Hoochie Mama made way outward through bad traffic, piloted by Sally, its factory AI, repaired better than new with logic parts from a very special sexbot.

Harry became Captain simply because his name was on the title. Maestro claimed everything under the bonnet and a good deal more. Chyna took the garage. Nonny started an armory. Blynd worked with all the other four as needed and made music. Tired of it became an acronym and honorific between them.

Along the way to this point of time and space, these Toi found themselves accompanied by a changing number of hangers on, hitchhikers, and fellow wanders called Interns, during some drunken party when there was enough spirits and frozen pizza to celebrate life aboard. The name defined them.

There were adventures and misadventures out to the borders of the Empire. New friends, breakdowns, refits, slick deals and shitty luck; all shared equally until at the last Royal outpost, the planet Prime. Down on their luck and a near empty fuel tank, the opportunity to be persuaded handsomely by HRMN Prime to go search for one of the King's missing relations: a rather naughty Princess in fact. Crewman Stubbs, a primitive of some intelligence, was not impounded in gratitude for the favor.

There was one hell of a party while the Toi used their carte-blanche privileges in the naval station to outfit and fill the Explorer to bursting for an armed expedition of some length with the condition W O Thaycher and his battle-tested squad accompany them in a strictly hush-hush manner.

Fifty wiper days after a hurried departure they crossed a great empty space. Leaving wiper drive well short of the intended destination, disguised as inept tourists, to find they were being stalked by the craft falling away to the lovely planet selected for a base camp. So our story begins on the far side of the cold deep gulf between them and civilization.

Cat's Cradle:

The one thing to be found of interest in the burned out Nissan Star-Tripper, the object, device, Fay magic, avant garde art or summat, would be many things to the crew; they were still scrummy inebriated and Itchy zoned, shocked by the damage done to the attacking vessel and a little pleased to be on this side of Hoochie Mama's new dreadnought cannons.

Most of all they would be puzzled about their compulsion to hold and never let go of the cherry red, squashed, bent, and twisted oblate spheroid still on the dead Nissan shown on the big galley screen above the dining room. The doomed ship bounced on the atmosphere of the planet below while 5 Standard shuttles tried to keep the wreck out of atmosphere until the inspection team finished a hasty look or retreated. There were cheers when at last the 6th pulled away in a shower of sparks to be passed by the other 5 still going full throttle as they released and ran home.

They would remember the first sight of the artifact when the returning W O triumphantly reached in a bag, holding his trophy up for all to see; how it filled them with a sense that all their hopes and dreams would be at last fulfilled when it was in their possession.

Thaycher was mobbed, losing control as it bobbed away on a sea of Intern hands, each fairing as well as he to acquire a grip.

Toi Harry's first indication that something amiss was a screen opening over the last moments of the Star Tripper; it flashed red alert and began replaying from the start with his sight.

"It's loose!" Thaycher's wildly waving arms tried to reclaim the sparkly What's it? Others reached as it bounced in unforeseeable directions. The Interns shoaled like fish around the glassy red beauty moving completely over the entire commons floor, always finding its way back to the center surrounded by happily adoring gropers hoping for a handhold of satisfaction. Nonny and Blynd walked in and were lost to the spell.

"Dum, ah, hee, I got it!" A crash and amused Interns laughed. "He, he, he, nope, it's as slippery as a greased shoat at the fair." Crewman Stubbs watched, waiting to see what this new game was.

"Hayaa!" Nonny joined the fray as her eyes saw a target long sought but never known, attempting to make it her own with no luck and much loving cursing.

"Lock the ship down before anyone else blunders in, Sally. What the hell is it?" Her voice sounded close by Harry's ears where he lay flat back in the bridge command chair, no longer sleepily enjoying the end of Operation Planet fall or watching the fireworks descending prettily.

"Breach conditions set, Captain sweetie. (kiss sound) The object appears seamless, but then so does the wall butler, however, there will be a composite rendering ready to examine if I can capture images of its entirety; one area is being very difficult to see as many times as it's been around the commons. There is no way for me to know exactly what it is. I am only the spawn of a Yertsberg and a Ford AI but we're the best you have."

Another screen opened showing Maestro standing by the rear galley door just up the corridor from the maelstrom rolling around the commons. Text across the bottom red, (Your cabin). The screen closed before he could speak. The command chair returned ready behind the Captain's worried dash past the bridge loo. Sally opened and closed doors ahead and behind him.

Harry ran up corridor, away from the bridge, then down the far side of the galley freezer bins to his cabin on the right, halfway between Hoochie's skin and the commons; he burst in then straight to the loo. He returned quickly to find Maestro in a remarkable state of agitation, something unknown in the wiper ages between them.

"I don't like that thing, Toi; it's evil. If it gets in here close your eyes." Harry watched the futile efforts to possess the thing. He didn't know if it was evil, but it was bad enough to be a weapon if used correctly, even though it did no direct harm to those enamored with its sight, as yet. "Look at this."

Maestro had a second screen opened with Sally�s current information. Harry marked the resemblance to a cat's ass saddle. He looked to see conformation in the old Fay's eyes. The puzzle grew deeper.

"How are we going to get that cat back in the bag? Look at Stubbs." The adopted creature sat teddy bear like on the floor of the lounge while everyone tried to catch something she could not see.

"It must be invisible to her, but how does that help us? What the hell is that thing, and where are all the rest of us? Ships roster, Sally." Engineering, Hangar, and Thaycher's squad were all in their spaces; the nerdy Interns were in a dorm of their own choosing. A screen showed each in real time with details. He stopped on the scene in the newest Toi's cabin.

Bridget: still crying from when the first shot guaranteed no hope of survivors and the lusty eyes of the man demanding the immediate surrender of the Ford vanished with the heavy jar and thunder of non-calibrated light cannons.

Once again violent death marred her otherwise pleasant life on board. Sallybot followed her tearful escape, bio-metric alarms activated by the young woman's distress; following to give the only comfort it could. Sex salves many wounds. The bot's mouth attended her wounds while Bridget sobbed into a pillow, writhing under the treatment.

"Are we going to watch porn or come up with a plan?" Harry closed that screen and was left with the last group on the ship numbering 239 Interns, 1 puzzled Crewman Stubs, 2 Toi, and 1 supernumerary, W O Thaycher. 242 of them were trying to subdue the elusive saddle, Stubs followed behind.

"My plan is staying far away from that thing." Maestro reopened the view of Bridget's cabin. "I thought we weren't going to watch porn." Toi Harry grumbled peevishly.

"No, look. We can use Sallybot. She's the perfect solution." A plan was made to see if the device had any effect on it and then contain the troublesome thing if possible. After Bridget fell asleep on her tear-stained pillow, the bot covered her with a duvet and left, proving very quickly the first concern null. Sallybot followed for a bit. It was poetry watching the sexbot working its way between the Interns before reaching up and drawing it down to where the hands of the entranced mob made it difficult for the strongly built sexbot to hold as command circuitry argued with low charge protocols.

At last Sallybot curled arms and legs around it; her form molded itself into a position that occluded all sight of the troublesome device, ending their desperate attempts to possess it and replacing it with blind stumbling sexual intoxication. Sally lost all connection to Sallybot, battery gone dead, left an erotic sculpture in the rudderless throng.

"She's gone!" There was anguish never heard in the AI's voice, then silence.

Even unseen, the force of its physic magnetism had them casting sluggishly about in search of its location, often as not lodged against similar searchers pressing to pass just past you. In the end they went to the floor, screwing like piles of blind undulating maggots as the device gave its last gift of rut and all the sweaty skin of the moaning afflicted shed what little clothes they wore.

Maestro went with Grom to remove Sallybot from the mass of bodies in the lounge; it was grunt work shifting the Interns but, once loaded, a quick trip to the hangar to help Henry put the bot and the cat in shuttle dock. When at last they were anchored outside, the Interns slowly orgasmed to puddles of deep sleep. They would remember little except that first glimpse and their loving mates trying to help them catch it. Private bits warming and the machinery between their flushed ears made that memory slip.

House cleaning:

The Toi remaining met in the wardroom. Nonny and Blynd still lay sleeping in one of the piles with Thaycher; a sad smile on a face exhausted beyond recognition.

Chyna, looking singed from dragging the last searchers inside his shuttle and haul ass away, narrowly escaping the fireworks preceding crash and burn, but extremely clean having missed the second event while in the shower with a few Interns to soap him down.

Maestro at Harry's right, grim faced, holding the bag Thaycher unknowingly drew the cherry red curiosity from. He closed his eyes, reached inside, and pulled out the only thing left.

The goggles had milky white lenses, the material opaque to look at, but transparent when worn. The fact that they were in the same bag suggested some nullification of the visual lock of the cherry red amulet and were very sexy to boot. The frame had deep engraved AG on either temple of the slick ruddy unknown gleaming metal.

"I want a pair of these." Chyna snagged them first and opened a screen to admire his image wearing the pimped-out shades that seemed made perfectly for his face. The pimp goggles were reluctantly passed around, each new wearer appearing to have a similar fit.

Maestro watched the replay from the start through them. The object lost most of its glint and color but the commons and school of seekers appeared as usual to him. He gave a start then dashed out the server's door.

"Toi Maestro, what the hell? Where is he going, Sally?"

"He says he has an idea and to carry on, Captain sweetie." (kiss sound) The Toi were left alone with no further information. It was Chyna who spoke first, tiredly and with some ire while looking at the door the old Fay went through so quickly.

"He took the goggles with him. We need coffee." They went to the galley for fresh brew and nibbles as the hours of late night turned to early morning. The view over the servers' line as they sipped from temperature controlled cups was surreal; so unlike any of the great parties that had ended on that floor. An erotic odor of sweat-slicked skin while they moved in sleep came in the opening. Vacfiber softly hissed like a lullaby as it removed spent fluids.

Toi Chyna closed the opening with a shudder and turned away. The sight was gone but the smell drove them away from the preparation table, holding their snacks and cocks against the musk behind them, escaping the close confines. Sally guided them through a maze of engineering spaces to where Maestro tinkered with a device enabling the AI to look through the goggles at the entire replay. He gave a lecture while thus engaged about spectrums, wave lengths, and ju ju optics.

On a screen, the composite image changed in glints and sparks as Sally sped through the library of multiple views of the release and capture until the last portion of the enchanted sex toy was revealed; a golden rectangular plate, incorporated along the curve of the twisted shaft connecting the two ends. Cherry red Amorous Goods filled the the channels of metal seamlessly. A long line of numbers and symbols suggesting an astronomical location ran under the caption. Toi Harry began making plans.

Reset:

"Time to unload and ponder while we square away. All Interns left will begin moving the stricken to showers and racks. Thaycher squad will retrieve and tuck him in then set tight. I'm going to wake Toi Bridget so she can catch up. Shore leave for the others as they wake. Anything else Maestro, Chyna?" Maestro walked out, again silent. The screen of the completed curse closed behind him.

"Yeah, is he finished with the goggles? We should have everyone sight free wearing Mark 7 coveralls so we can tell who our specialists are. Cancel breach conditions so I can get my Specialists moving."

"Sally, pass the word to those left; start a replay on Bridget's screen, tell her I'm coming if she asks or tries to screen me. Now get me out of here." Bridget met him just outside her door, pale and drawn. Together they began the long job of restoring a sense of normalcy to the areas affected by the ordeal and a sense of excitement for the awakening victims as they hurried them to waiting shuttles

Post capture: October 8,

Aboard the Hoochie Mama things were different; so different that Harry was rethinking the decision to quarantine so many below for the sheer reason it was empty as hell with all of those poor souls, gone but not quite haunted, safe in a virgin paradise or summat. Nonny and Blynd were happy to go and Crewman Stubbs with them.

Everyone left was on a common circuit now, easier that way with so few. It was too quiet; a lot better after all moving closer together, closer forever now. He tried to name them off in his mind, there was Chyna and Hank, Maestro, Grom, and Thaycher, unable to be left behind and carefully tended by his squad, whose names seemed to change daily. Anise, Fred, Dave, Cheryl, Debbie, Deborah, and a couple of more he hadn't sussed out yet.

Bridget moved into Nonny's cabin, next to his, empty now of all the knives, spears, bows, energy guns and weapons strange to behold. She talked Maestro into making a connecting door into Harry's room as a modification. Soon the first class cabins close to the central shaft were changed into other systems to fit the needs of the Specialists and Toi. The commons and galley were changed as well.

Dining was greatly abbreviated; gained space became a grand cozy party area below the big screen above. Chyna set up in the spaces beside the hangar booth. One floor up, Thaycher and his squad rearranged the weapons suites. Through it all Maestro worked tirelessly to accommodate requests and improve conditions aboard. When asked how so much was done in such a short time he replied 'It's amazing what you can do with a Plexiwelder and no interruptions.' Life became routine while preparing.

Preparations:

Harry shrugged off the Mark 7 coveralls, sighing as the wall butler snagged the discarded garment leg, drawing it inside to be cleaned and presented fresh for inspection the next time it was opened. Slowly walking to the shower and running an unusual amount of hot steamy water and Sudz to wash off the last two hours of exercise by the abusive, Ustis Thaycher, channeling his angst into teaching all specialist members and Toi for the expedition. Maestro was his pain partner in last place on the corridor runs.

"I really miss Sallybot." He shut off the shower, wrung out his hair and walked away dripping the water normally removed by the inert sexbot outside. He rolled on the vacfiber floor, letting it suck the moisture from his body. Sally spoke above the hiss of the fabric.

"Me too, Captain sweetie. (kiss sound) I could feel through her fingers and body, experience some of what she was doing; even use her in some particular fashion to fulfill my own curiosity at some of the descriptions in the user manual." Harry could only imagine what descriptions could be found the voluminous manual that Yertzberg was rumored to have written. "I'm so pleased Sallybot lasted long enough to immobilize the thing." There was pain behind the simple declaration.

"She's a Hero and you are too. We're going to find out how to get her back. Bridget walked in the adjoining door, stripped her sweaty Mark 7 's off, and seated herself on Harry.

Recce:

"So how are we going to do this?" Harry asked. The remaining crew were all gathered in the new screen lounge. Maestro, Thaycher, and Sally began explaining the process designed to inspect the co-ordinates found on the cat saddle. It sounded pretty simple but the reality was another thing. The big Ford torroids spun up as Hoochie raced to threshold for the first quick look.

They left wiper drive some distance from the target. The torroids gave off a tooth-grinding wail as they were fed just enough thorium to hover below threshold. Harry gritted his teeth against the first in your face discomfort of near threshold as they stayed just on this side of normal space and all was the monochrome gray as a few eerie ghosts of Specialist laggards fled abed.

"Mapping." Sally reported ship wide then a pause of seconds that felt like much more before the instant cold gray of wiper space that was almost a relief before the next jump. In all there were five; one more than their plan had called for then Hoochie was near Wildhoot again with the torroids winding down, taking all that discomfort away except for normal wiper landing nasty headaches. The last gray hell lasted twice as long then the cold of wiper space descended for the trip back to Wildhoot.

"I'd rather go back and fight Assholes than do that again

Amorous Goods: The Pendant of Min & The Ring - Part 2

Tenth Amendment — Mon, 01 Jun 2026 18:43:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: The Ring - Part 2

Why do her boobs look bigger?

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

Back home, the five us of smoked a little weed, and drank either Bourbon, Scotch, or Tequila, depending on one's taste. I'm a Tequila girl, myself. Rod and Cole went for the Bourbon, Dan went for the Scotch, and Becca just kept smoking.

The obvious began. Dan and Becca were on the couch, and they started making out a bit. It was just kissing, and Dan was feeling up Becca's boobs through her clothes, but it was enough for Rod to get started with me. I had decided tonight was the night Rod would get what he had been wanting, but I was a bit put off by Cole being there. I knew I wasn't put off enough by Cole being there, and that troubled me. I was having meta discomfort! Becca and Dan were in their own world, and I guessed they would soon move to my bedroom, and they did.

I was now alone with Rod and Cole and Rod was kissing me, then Cole would turn my head and he would kiss me, and then Rod again, and then Cole again, and I was beginning to get dizzy. Each man had his own style, and as they kissed me, my clothes gradually left my body. Rod had rendered me naked on our previous date, but we didn't have sex, at least not in the Biblical sense. Cole had already seen me naked, along with everyone else at the Halloween party, but this was different because it was in an intimate setting.

As if to underscore the intimacy, I quickly had four hands exploring every square inch of my body. Rod went for my boobs, and Cole went for my feet. It was pretty clear Cole had a foot fetish. I mean, the loving way he was caressing my feet, kissing my toes, complimenting me on my toenail polish, and just caressing them beautifully, over and over again, left no doubt at all about his fetish.

I was proud of my toenail polish. I had a fly painted onto each of my big toes. Classy, right?

That's when it happened. I realized this had happened to me before. When I had gone to that party at Purdue, seven years earlier, when I was only eighteen, two men had taken me to a bedroom and had begun to make out with me. I had been up for it, eager to experience sex, and the two of them had teamed up to get me naked, save for my panties, and then one man went for my boobs, while the other went for my feet, and all the while they were both kissing me, sometimes on the mouth, other times anywhere they wanted to kiss me. It had all happened before.

The problem was I could not remember the faces nor the names of the two men. I didn't even remember having had sex with them, although it was of course obvious I did, since I became pregnant. The only thing I could remember was the word "Cod." Now I was living through the same experience. Was it possible it was a coincidence?

I stood up, pushing them away. "Where were you, seven years ago?" I asked.

"What?" they replied together.

Oh my God, Cole and Rod? Could that be the mythical Cod? Was it these two men to whom I gave my virginity? Did they both enjoy me; that way; or was it just one of them? I shivered at the thought that my first (and only) time could have been a threesome!

I was back on the floor. Cole was still going at it with my feet, but Rod apparently was a more conventional man. Rod removed my panties (I raised my hips to help him do it, even) and subsequently he was spreading my legs. Cole now (finally!) left my feet and moved to my mouth and my tits. Uh-oh, it was showtime.

Rod was fingering me as if he were a brain surgeon, as it seemed to be his fingers had extraordinary delicacy and talent! I knew I was turned on; hell, everyone did. I could hear the sloshing sounds of my own lubrication. I hoped Rod was the kind of guy who would replace his fingers with something else, something a little bigger perhaps, at some point? I was on the pill. I was ready. I was more than ready! Hell, I was eager.

Rod must have red my mind. It's also possible he had simultaneous, independent discovery of what turned out to be; quite simply; a wonderful idea. He adjusted his body, getting into position, and while I didn't actually lay eyes on his cock, it was no secret to me where it was, and where it was about to go! I felt as if this were my first time. In some sense, it was, since I had no memory of the sexual act the only other time, when I had become pregnant.

My goodness, it felt wonderful. Rod entered me and I lost it. I tried to speak, but Colm's tongue was in my mouth. I was reduced to moaning. Rod's cock sliding into me, and then sliding back out, or almost back out, and then plunging back in, slowly increasing the speed, was sending ripples of some special kind of pleasure running through my body. I was bucking my pelvis up and down to match his thrusts. My enthusiasm was unbridled.

I didn't fully comprehend it all at the time, but having one man give you a fuck from heaven, while another man was playing with your tits and kissing you, was; for me; perfection itself. It was only around two minutes after the fuck began when I climaxed, moaning into Colm's mouth, as his tongue was engaged with mine. I could feel Colm's hard cock against my outer thigh as Rod repeatedly plunged his cock into me. I knew I could never forget this!

Rod had never asked where to cum, but I was glad when he chose to cum inside me, just like the mythical "Cod" must have done seven years earlier. When he was done, there was still Colm, as hard as a rock, looking at me expectantly. I figured he wanted to fuck me too, and as I was wondering if I could emotionally deal with that, my bracelet once again entered my head. I knew what to do.

I moved around so that I held Colm's thick cock between my feet, and I caressed it with my toes. I had never done anything like this before, nor had I ever even thought about doing it, and yet, it seemed familiar, as if I had done it before. It's not the same as jerking off a guy, because your feet can't grab the cock, unless you're a monkey or something. It's just fondling and gently caressing, but with your toes, with my elegant nail polish, and not my fingers. Luckily, I had enjoyed a wonderful pedicure, just by chance, two days earlier, so my feet were all smooth and feminine. Funny, I had splurged for the pedicure on impulse, which is not like me. Could it have been due to my ring, too?

Colm, to my surprise, squirted up into the air, just from the caresses of my toes and feet! After he squirted, Rod moved me around, and he fucked me a second time! This time he lasted a good, long time, maybe twenty minutes or more, and by the time he finished, I realized I had an audience of three naked people: Dan, Rebecca, and Colm.

Rebecca was sitting on the couch in between Dan and Colm, and she had her right hand wrapped around Dan's cock, and her left hand wrapped around Colm's thick cock, and she was jerking them both, and at the same time! Whoa, Rebecca! You go, girl! I was super turned on that the three of them had watched us fuck.

I was tempted to fuck Colm, too, but he seemed happy as it was, so I just relaxed and enjoyed the afterglow of Rod's amazing second fuck, which had driven me to two more orgasms. I think I dozed off a bit.

"You know, sweet Michelle, you remind me of my dream girl," Rod said, when we were all awake and dressed, at least to some extent. I had my panties and a T-shirt on, no bra, and so too did Becca who had borrowed one of my T shirts, and the men were back in their Halloween costumes.

"That's nice, I suppose. What happened to your dream girl? Maybe you should be fucking her instead of me?" I said, showing my annoyance at Rod's idiotic remark.

Ignoring my remark made in anger, Rod continued, "It was seven years ago. Cole and I went to a Halloween party at Purdue. We were students at Butler University in Indianapolis, but Purdue had the famous Halloween party. Girls went to it from all over. Anyway, we got lucky, and met this super-hot freshman. She too was named Michelle. She had a pretty face, similar to yours, but a very different body. I was smitten."

"How was her body different?" I asked.

"This will sound crude, but she wasn't built like you, my lovely. She was flat chested, and had almost no ass. I didn't care, because she was totally my dream girl. It was love at first sight, maybe for both of us," Rod said.

"Did she fuck like me?" I asked.

"Funny you should ask. Yes, exactly! And she was a virgin, too, at the time," Rod said.

"Her feet were like yours, too," Cole piped up. "Her adorable little toes curled up when Rod fucked her. I kissed her while Rod and her fucked, just as I did with you, and she didn't mind at all. She seemed up for anything with the two of us. We've never met another girl like her, ever again, until tonight."

"Did you both fuck her?" I asked.

"Well, first she played with my cock with her toes. That's when I developed my foot fetish, I guess. Maybe I had always had it, I don't know. But yes, after Rod fell asleep, I fucked her, too. Boy, could she fuck! She was my first, you know. Rod had been around the block, but Michelle was my first girl, ever," Cole said. "You never forget your first. I'll never forget my second, either," he added, looking me in the eyes, then letting his eyes wander down to my toes.

"Some people forget their first," Becca said from the couch, and I shot her a death ray with my eyes.

"What happened after that night? Did you continue to date her?" I asked. I had always wondered why I had never heard from the guys who fucked me at that Halloween party, seven years earlier.

"Oh, I tried," Rod said. "Every weekend I'd head up to Purdue, looking for her. I'd party hop, hoping to find her at a party, and I'd walk around the campus looking for her. She never told us her last name, or anything, basically. I never found her. Cole looked, too."

"I sure did. We spent the last two years of college looking for her, it seemed," Cole added.

"Really?" I felt much better to hear that.

"Listen, Michelle, you helped me get over my fixation on my dream girl from college. I'd love to keep dating you. May I?" Rod asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Can I come along on the date?" Cole asked.

"No," Rod and I said together. Cole looked crestfallen, the poor guy.

"Look, Colm, how about we meet up, the three of us, for brunch some Sunday, and I'll wear open toed sandals, and play footsie with you under the table? I mean if Rod is okay with it?" I offered.

Colm's face brightened up considerably. We both looked at Rod. He nodded. Com exhaled, and he replied, "I'd love that."

"Why didn't you tell Rod and Cole you were their dream girl from seven years ago? It's obvious you were," Becca asked me, when we met the next day for lunch.

"I want Rod to like me for me, not because I'm the incarnation of some fantasy he's been having since forever," I said. "And I certainly never want to tell him he knocked me up that night. If it was him. It seems Cole fucked me, too."

"So it sounds like you're taken with Rod," Becca said.

"It seems so, at least for now. He's quite a strange guy, you know, and I'm not sure I like strange," I said.

"Are you okay with me seducing Colm?" Rebecca asked.

"Sure, it would relieve the pressure on me, to fuck him, too, which is not going to happen; but what happened to Dan?" I asked.

"It turns out Dan is married. His wife was out of town. It's too bad," Becca said.

"How was his cock?" I asked.

"You saw it; it didn't live up to the promise of his big nose, alas. When it was inside me, however, it was perfection itself. I came three times during one of his fucks alone!" she said.

"How many times did he fuck you?" I asked.

"Four. Can you believe it?"

"Four? You didn't have time for four fucks!" I exclaimed.

"He drove me home, remember?"

"Oh. Right," I said. "You going to keep seeing him, on the down low?"

"No way, no how. He wants to see keep seeing me, but I don't fuck married men. Knowingly, that is," she said.

"Right."

"Colm, on the other hand;�

"He's all yours," I said. "I promised him, though, to fondle his cock with my toes at brunch on Sunday. Say, why don't you join us? My toes will get him going, and then you can fuck him?"

"Where, in the ladies' room of the brunch place?" Becca sarcastically asked.

"Sure, why not?" I replied.

"Michelle, your new jewelry is giving you one hell of a dirty mind!" Becca said. "You need to get a grip."

"Are you here to return the jewelry?" Vikki nervously asked, when Becca and I showed up at her store.

"No, I'm keeping it. Fabulous stuff," I said. Vikki smiled, and it seemed to be a smile of relief.

Becca was wandering around the store, checking out some dining tables.

"I have a question, Vikki," I began. Vikki encouraged me, so I told her the story; all of it.

"Has your memory of your first time returned yet?" she asked.

"No, and I still don't know why, but that's not the question," I said. Vikki waited patiently, and I continued. "The ring and the bracelet wanted Becca and me to go to a club, the week before Halloween, and so we did. There I met the very same Rod and Cole I've just told you about. My question is this: Could the ring and bracelet have somehow known about my Halloween deflowering seven years earlier, and arranged somehow; I have no idea how; for me to meet the two men again?"

"No, of course not. The ring and bracelet couldn't possibly have those extraordinary powers, such as you ascribe to them," Vikki replied.

"Okay, then," I said, relieved in a way. It would be scary if this had all been a set-up via the jewelry.

Becca interrupted. "Is this Louis the thirteenth buffet enchanted? I'd like to have a man be compelled to fuck me, bent over a beautiful buffet like this one." The price, I had noted earlier, was $4,000. It's a good thing Becca is rich!

Vikki and Becca discussed things for a while. I heard Vikki remind Becca that she didn't know which items were charmed, and which were not. "This other buffet, also Louis the thirteenth, however, should do the trick. It was returned for just that reason. So many men had fucked the woman who bought it, that she was going crazy. She claimed almost every man who entered her house fucked her, including her neighbor and his son, and both of them at the same time! Every man, that is, but her husband. I can let you have it for $100."

"Sounds perfect. I'll take it," Becca said, as I just stared at her. Becca could really surprise me at times. "Colm," Becca said to me, as if that were an explanation, upon seeing my stare of incomprehension. Vikki smiled broadly. I made a mental note to keep Rod out of Becca's apartment.

Vikki then turned to me. "No, the ring and bracelet could not have arranged for you to meet this guy Rod in a club. No, that would have to have been the doings of the necklace. You see, you need the added power of the gemstones for that kind of magic. I'm sure my Great Aunt Elizabeth would be thrilled to hear about your subsequent happiness. We have some ruby and jade encrusted earrings, too, if you're interested?"

To be continued, in the series, Amorous Goods; a collaborative storyline for Literotica

Amorous Goods: The Ring - Part 1

Why do her boobs look bigger?

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Rebecca asked me.

"No, not really, Michelle. It's a small town around here somewhere, though," I said.

"What's it called, at least? There's a signpost coming up," Rebecca said.

"Middletown, what else? It's right, smack, dab in the middle of nowhere," I said.

"You got that right," Rebecca replied. "Remind me again why we're doing this? And Michelle? Please don't say again, it came to you in a dream!"

"I told you: I saw a little squib about an estate sale in Middletown. We haven't been to an estate sale in months, and I'll just bet there's some great antiques there. I know you love antiques. Hell, we both do! Also, it came to me in a dream," I said. Rebecca was looking at Google Maps on her phone.

"Take your next left," she said. Then she glared at me.

"Boy, this town is small! It's got like five stores total, and that includes the grocery store and the general store. This place has to be it," Rebecca said.

"Yep. See the small sign in the corner of the window? It says Estate Sales." I replied.

"The sign above the door, painted rather poorly I might add, says Amorous Goods. What the bleep does that mean?" Rebecca asked. "At least they spelled Amorous correctly."

"Let's go inside and find out," I said, and I opened the door, causing a small bell to tinkle. A thirties something woman emerged from a back room, sweeping her dirty blonde, longish hair from out of her right eye, and she looked at us squarely.

"Welcome to my store, Amorous Goods. I'm Vikki," she said.

"I'm Michelle, and this is Rebecca. We thought the store was called Estate Sales R Us. Is this not an estate sales store?" I asked. I was confused, because what was inside the store looked exactly like the estate sales Rebecca and I have enjoyed haunting for the last couple of years, but the store name didn't fit. The furniture was so pretty, my mouth was watering. My apartment was still seriously under furnished. It's hard, when all that you want is antiques.

"Oh, yes, definitely, but now I've devoted it to just one estate: that of my Great Aunt. She was a collector, you see, and what you see here is only around a tenth of her collection! Her estate will keep me occupied for years, I guess," Vikki said.

"Why did you rename the store Amo

Amorous Goods: The Mirror & The Ring Part 1

Tenth Amendment — Sun, 31 May 2026 18:39:00 +0000

Amorous Goods: The Mirror

Middle-aged man buys an intriguing object.

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

Prologue:

The bell above the door chimed as JT walks into the store. JT is an overweight middle aged man. His thin brown hair was falling out, leaving him with a big bald spot on top of his head. His brown eyes were flat and lifeless as if the world had completely broken him. His clothes mismatched and making him look decidedly worse rather than better.

Vikki greets him with her usual bright cheery smile. Her voice sounding clearly from the back of the store.

"Welcome to Amorous Goods. Is there anything I can help you find?"

"No thanks. I'm just looking." JT says.

JT walks around the store at a leisurely pace. Stopping on occasion to look at something or another.

He comes to a full length mirror. Something about it catches his attention. He looks into the mirror and sees a gorgeous woman. He looks behind him, but there's no one there. He turns back to the mirror, and she is still there.

Her legs are impossibly long. The black stiletto heels showing them off to their best advantage. His eyes tracing up them. He imagines how they would feel wrapped around him. Squeezing him as he pleasures her.

Her short black dress fits her body like a second skin. Hugging her curves and barely containing her big tits. For several minutes he watches the rise and fall of her tits. Each time she breaths in it looks like her tits will simply fall out of that dress.

He finally makes way to her face. Her sweet angelic face. Her ruby red lips are full and so kissable that he wants to dive into the mirror just to start kissing her. Her hauntingly beautiful blue eyes seem to promise all sorts of pleasures. Her scarlet hair falling down almost to her waist in waves.

The girl in the mirror smiles at him. He feels like he is the only person to ever get to see that smile. His heart races as he continues to stare at her. His cock straining against his pants. He tries to readjust, but it does no good.

Her mouth opens and she mouths something to him. He watches her lips closely. She mouth something to him again.

"Buy the mirror, and I will be yours." Her smile seductive.

JT nods his head, and her image disappears. The last part to fade away is her ruby red lips.

"Excuse me Ms." JT calls out.

"Yes sir." Vikki says as she comes from behind the counter.

"I was wondering how much this mirror is?" He states.

Vikki looks for the tag but isn't able to find one. She looks the mirror over as if trying to decide something.

"How does a hundred sound?" She asks after a few moments.

"I can do that." He states as he reaches back for his wallet.

Vikki takes hold of the mirror and rolls it with her to the front counter. She rings it up, and JT hands over his debit card.

He impatiently waits for the transaction to go through. When it does he signs the receipt and takes the mirror back home. The entire way he swears he can feel warmth coming from the mirror, yet the woman is not there.

When he gets home, JT puts the mirror in his bedroom. He sits down on the bed and looks into the mirror. Slowly the woman comes back. It looks as if she's sitting on the bed next to him. JT looks next to him but of course she isn't there.

He looks back at her. "I want you." He confesses. "Will you come out of the mirror?"

She gives him a smile and points up. JT looks up and sees writing on the frame of the mirror. He thinks it might be writing but it is in a language that he doesn't know.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do." He says. His voice full of despair and longing.

She makes a gesture with her hands and mouths a few words. JT watches her. Wondering what she's doing. She points up again. This time when JT looks up he can read what is written.

"From the inverse of time and space, I free you. Come to me Xenova." He recites.

Xenova steps out of the mirror. Her perfect body moving with a fluid grace that any athlete would love to have. Her blue eyes locked on his.

"Oh Master. Thank you for freeing me from that awful mirror. An evil wizard trapped me in there, ages ago. I am yours now and forever more." She says right before leaning in to give him a kiss.

Xenova presses up against JT Pressing him back onto the bed. She straddles him. Kissing him passionately. JT responds in kind. Kissing her. His hands caressing her back through the material of her black dress.

Xenova sits up, pulling her dress up over her head. JT marvels at her lithe body. Her full perky tits. Her sleek midriff.

He moans with desire and rolls her over so he's on top of her. Starting at his lips he kisses his way down her magnificent body.

He quickly undresses. Watching her reaction to see if she's put off by his naked body. Just the opposite though. She stares at him while biting her lower lip. Reaching up she pulls him back down on top of her.

She reaches down between them, and takes his fully erect cock into her hands. Squeezing it ever so gently as she guides him inside her.

JT gasps in delight as he slides inside her. He delights in how she is just tight enough for him to slip inside of, yet also tight enough that there is frictions.

JT starts pounding into her. Her cries echoing in his small bedroom. J Tee�s mind a complete blank as his body takes over.

A loud frantic knock sounds just as JT is about to finish. JT tries to ignore it. Nothing is more important to him at that moment then filling her with his seed.

"Sir? It's Vikki. From Amorous Goods. It's imperative that I speak with you. That mirror you bought wasn't supposed to be on the floor yet. A Succubus was trapped inside and I haven't had time to get her out yet."

Something about the word succubus filled JT with dread, yet he couldn't stop himself. His need for her so absolute that nothing else mattered.

JT felt his body clench as he began to cum. Xenova holding him against her as he squirted thick stringy ropes of cum into her.

JT could hear Vikki trying to get into the apartment, but he couldn't move. Xenova opened her mouth and sucked his soul from his body. When she finished his body had shrunken. His life extinguished.

Xenova got up and got dressed again. Vikki and another guy burst in just as she finishes dressing. She smiles at them, and jumps out the window. Vikki runs to the window and looks out. Watching as Xenova flies away.

"Come on Mark. I guess we better find out what to do about this one. You really need to be more careful with what you put on the floor to sell."

To be continued, in the series, Amorous Goods; a collaborative storyline for Literotica

Amorous Goods: The Ring - Part 1

Why do her boobs look bigger?

Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Rebecca asked me.

"No, not really, Michelle. It's a small town around here somewhere, though," I said.

"What's it called, at least? There's a signpost coming up," Rebecca said.

"Middletown, what else? It's right, smack, dab in the middle of nowhere," I said.

"You got that right," Rebecca replied. "Remind me again why we're doing this? And Michelle? Please don't say again, it came to you in a dream!"

"Take your next left," she said. Then she glared at me.

"Boy, this town is small! It's got like five stores total, and that includes the grocery store and the general store. This place has to be it," Rebecca said.

"Yep. See the small sign in the corner of the window? It says Estate Sales." I replied.

"The sign above the door, painted rather poorly I might add, says Amorous Goods. What the bleep does that mean?" Rebecca asked. "At least they spelled Amorous correctly."

"Welcome to my store, Amorous Goods. I'm Vikki," she said.

"Why did you rename the store Amorous Goods?" Rebecca asked. "We almost drove right past it."

"I did it as a warning. My Great Aunt Elizabeth Jackson Howe was an enchantress, you see, and a random subset of her estate is magically charmed. Don't worry, though, she was a good witch. You have nothing to fear, unless you're averse to sex and love, and nobody really is, right?" Vikki said.

Vikki said it fast, nervously. Actually, I felt she was a highly nervous person. Her hair was back in her eyes. She nervously brushed it away again. I idly wondered how many times each day she did that?

"Anyway, look around, and I hope you enjoy yourself. I'll be in the back room in case you need me for questions, okay? Just ring the bell," Vikki said, gesturing to a chiffereau in the center of the store, which had a cleverly positioned bell in it. The chiffereau was made of bird's eye maple, and polished to a shine.

We both said thanks, and we began to look around. Clearly Vikki was a little nuts, but the pieces at the estate sale of her Great Aunt Elizabeth were stunning, and looked to be worth a fortune. They were priced accordingly, however, and were way out of my range. Rebecca was rich (inherited money) however, and she looked over things carefully, while I just walked around and drooled.

I was disappointed. The whole point of estate sales, as opposed to antique shops; was to find fabulous bargains, and clearly there were none here to be had. None, that is, until I got to the jewelry counter. There was a ring made of 14 carat solid gold, with diamonds encrusting one small part of it, and the price was $100. It was priced at least ten times too little; many even twenty times, fifty times, or more! It came with a matching bracelet, and necklace. They too were priced absurdly low.

I called Vikki but she must not have heard me, for she did not come. I finally thought to ring the little tinkling bell on a shelf of the chiffereau, as she had said we should do. Immediately she was there, right behind me, saying, "Yes, Michelle. How can I help you?" I wondered how she had done that so fast, without me seeing her?

"I'd like to try on some of this jewelry, if I may?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. You have a good eye. They're really beautiful pieces," Vikki said. Vikki was right!

"If I may ask, is the ring solid gold, and are the diamonds encrusting it real diamonds?"

"Yes, exactly," Vikki replied.

"Why is it so cheap?" I asked. I didn't want to take advantage of Vikki. Maybe she had just left off some zeroes or something?

"Oh, yes. Well. You see, a woman already bought the ring, the bracelet, and the necklace, and she paid full price: $16,000 in total, plus tax. It seems, however, that the jewelry she bought is enchanted, and the woman freaked out to such an extent that she returned them. I offered to return her money, but she just fled. So, I priced them to move. I don't want anyone returning them again, nor do I want to profit from her unhappiness," Vikki said. "Returning them to me, you see, seems to be the only way to break the charm."

"The charm?" I asked.

"Oh yes, you remember I told you a random subset of objects on sale here are charmed? Mostly I don't know which ones are charmed, but from what that woman said, this set of jewelry is most definitely charmed!" Vikki said.

"What happened to make her think that?" I asked.

"She wouldn't say. She mumbled something about too much sex. It didn't make a lot of sense to me. She said she almost lost her husband because of it. Primarily, she seemed anxious to put some serious distance between her and the jewelry as fast as possible. Say, you're not married, right?" Vikki asked.

I laughed. "Far from it. I'm almost a virgin and have no prospects right now," I said.

"I like the concept of being almost a virgin," Vikki said, clearly amused by my diction. I had said too much.

"It's a long, complicated story," I said, in that tone of voice we all know how to use to end a topic of discussion.

"I'm sure it is. Well, if I may say so, you look stunning in the jewelry. Did you notice how the ring almost glows on your finger?" Vikki asked. "It's good that you're not married."

"You do look gorgeous in it," Rebecca added.

I looked in the mirror. Wow. If there were a ten-point scale of prettiness, then (let's say) before the jewelry I had been a five, or maybe on a good day a six. While wearing the jewelry, however, I was a nine! Probably I was a ten, but modesty prevents me from saying that. It was amazing, and amazing in a good way. Vikki was right: The ring appeared to be positively glowing!

"Why is it good I'm not married?" I asked. Vikki looked as if she had regretted saying that. There was a little back and forth, but I insisted she answer.

"Not all husbands are understanding if, for example, you were to kiss another man," Vikki said.

"Oh, I see!" I said, even if I didn't, and then the three of us laughed. This whole enchanted jewelry thing was nonsense, but I was getting a true bargain; almost a steal!

"I'm glad you got the jewelry," Rebecca said. "You look stunning in it! You really do. I know you're wearing only the ring, but it even brightens up your face, somehow!"

"I still can't get over how cheap it was," I said.

"It's probably just paste," Rebecca said. "The point is, it fits you. You look great with even only just the ring."

"No, I think it's real. I worked at my Uncle Jim's jewelry store summers, and after school, as a kid. I know fake from real. This looked real," I said. "Back then, I saw women come in wanting us to buy their engagement rings, with diamonds on them the size of Montana. Often, they were just gold plate and the stones were cubic zirconium, and I had to deal with breaking the news to them. It was heartbreaking. The same with their gold band wedding rings."

"How can you tell solid gold from gold plate, just by looking?" Becca asked.

"Weight. Gold plate weighs significantly more. Trust me, Becca, vee have our vays!" and I said it with a fake Nazi accent.

"Real or fake, it looks great on you, and you look stunning when you wear it. Say, this is going to sound weird, but did your boobs grow recently?" Rebecca asked.

"You mean like today? Like, since I slipped on this ring; which, by the way, fits me perfectly? My bra does suddenly feel kind of tight," I said. "I'm having my period, so maybe that's why my boobs are a little bigger. Do they look good bigger?" I had always been flat chested, and spent my adolescence waiting for my boobs to grow, which they never did. Until now, it seemed, after I had become resigned to a flat chested life.

"Well, I'm not a guy, but if I were one, then yeah, they'd be mighty fine. Mighty fine," Becca said. "What's going on, Michelle?"

"Damned if I know," I replied.

"If I may ask, why do you always say you're almost a virgin?" Rebecca asked.

"It's a long, and complicated story," I replied using a certain tone of voice that indicates that's all I wanted to say. It didn't work.

"It's a long drive back home; three she hours at least. Spill, Michelle," Becca said. So, I finally told someone. I had never told anyone any of it before.

"I had sex my freshman year, one time, one night," I said.

"Everyone did. That's not a big deal, but it's reassuring to hear you're more normal than I thought," Becca said.

I shot her a look, even though I was driving. "That's it? That's the whole story?" she said.

"No. It was at a Halloween party, off campus. At a certain time of the party, my memories stop. I woke up, alone, the next morning, in my own bed, with a sore vagina, and it was matted with cum," I said.

"Yeah, that sort of thing has happened to me, too. To lots of us girls," Becca said.

"I have no memory of it. None. I don't even have a clue who the guy or guys were!" I said. "I had been a virgin, it was my first time, and it's all a blank." As I remembered it, I was sort of reliving the horror of it all.

"Guy or guys? More than one?" Becca asked. How did Becca know to ask that particular question?

"My mouth tasted of cum, I felt nauseated, there was cum matted around my pussy and all over my boobs, I was naked, and I had been fucked in the ass, too. Can only one man do all that?" I asked.

"I see what you mean," Becca said. "Wow, that's bad. No memory at all?"

"None. If it weren't for all the cum all over me and how